


Came in like a Wrecking Ball

by griever11



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, Enemies to Lovers, Meddling Friends, Rivals, Rivals to Lovers, Romance, personal trainer, yoga instructor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-09-07 13:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16855093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griever11/pseuds/griever11
Summary: Oliver Queen, personal trainer.Felicity Smoak, yoga instructor.An unfortunate first impression leaves them hating one another, until their meddling co-workers decide that they're actually kind of, quite literally, perfect for each other.Rivals to lovers AU. No Arrow.





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh, good, you’re early. I left my keys at home.”

 

Oliver swivels his head around, nodding when he notices Sara lounging against the brick wall of the building he’s trying to get into.

 

“Thought I’d get a workout in before my first client,” he explains, twisting the key to unlock the metal door leading to the gym they both work at.

 

Sara nudges her way past him and through the open door, leaving her bag onto the floor next to the staff lockers. She throws a smirk back at him before crouching down to rifle through her bag.

 

“Uh huh, so you can have just the right amount of sweat dripping over yourself when your superfans get here. I see what you’re doing.”

 

He stares at the back of her head. “I don’t have superfans.”

 

“I beg to differ,” she teases. Standing up with her workout clothes in her hand, she shrugs and turns to walk to the change rooms, voice echoing down the empty hall.

 

“All I know is that everyone is exponentially more distracted whenever you have a session with a client and they’re always hanging around after class trying to chat you up. So whether you like it or not, you sir, have groupies.”

 

Oliver scowls.

 

Okay, fine. The after-class loitering has not gone completely unnoticed. Sara’s boxing class lets out ten minutes before he’s usually done with his morning personal training sessions but there are always a few stragglers hanging around waiting to say hi or to have a quick chat before his next client shows up.

 

It’s undeniably flattering, and the Ollie Queen from _before_ would have preened at all the attention. Post five years of traumatic experiences Oliver Queen, however, would rather just keep his head down and move past such shallow frivolities.

 

Too bad not everyone got the memo.

 

“I don’t have groupies!” he yells back, shoving his own workout bag into his locker.

 

It’s only been a year since he returned from Lian Yu and began working at Spartan, a no frills, state-of-the-art gym and fitness centre. He started off as a part-time trainer as he readjusted to a normal, post-island life, his only responsibility being to oversee the free-weights area of the gym. It wasn’t glamorous or particularly stimulating, but it allowed him to train whenever he wanted, get paid for it, and along the way, make some new friends.

 

After a while, his boss and owner of the gym, John Diggle realised that Oliver’s physical prowess could be put to better use training people instead of just watching over them and had offered him a full-time personal trainer position and that was when Oliver truly flourished. He was really good at it, a brilliant coach and trainer, and for the first time in his life, felt like he found a place where he fit in the world.

 

Which is why he’s here, bright and early at six in the morning squeezing in his own session before his marathon back-to-back clients for the day.

 

He runs through his usual warm up combinations on autopilot, stretching, twisting, making sure he’s limber enough for his actual workout. Soon enough, he feels a light sheen of sweat forming on his skin and he takes his shirt off, not wanting to be restricted once he starts with the heavy weights.

 

He’s in the middle of kettlebell complex when he hears the door to the room open, followed by a surprised “Oh, crap!”.

 

Whirling around, he narrows his eyes at the woman who’s standing just inside the doorway. A pile of yoga mats at her feet and what looks like a laptop clutched against her chest.

 

She’s cute.

 

It’s the first thing that crosses his mind as he takes her in. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail and she’s in a bright pink, loose tank top, pink leggings and strangely, barefoot. Her eyes are trained on him with laser-like focus behind her glasses, and he watches as she drags her gaze down like she’s saving the image of his body to her memory bank.

 

She must be one of the groupies Sara mentioned earlier. Great. Irritation flashes through him and he clenches his jaw. He doesn’t like being interrupted in the middle of a workout, especially if it’s by some girl who looks like she's heading to a day spa and entirely out of place at the gym, cuteness notwithstanding.

 

When she finally meets his eyes and realises she’s just been caught staring, she flushes, cheeks tinged pink to match her outfit and she lets out a nervous chuckle.

 

“I’m... uh. Hi. I wasn’t staring - well, I was, but mostly because I didn’t think there would be anyone here, so I’m just surprised by the skin, so much skin. And abs. And,” she jerks to a stop, blinking rapidly at him. “You’re... you’re Oliver Queen. Who probably isn’t here to listen to me... babble.”

 

Oliver puts his kettlebell down and stands up slowly, preparing for the inevitable - what was the term Thea used again? _Fangirling -_ that’s about to happen because she’s realised who he is. He forces a smile onto his face. Best to get it over with now set the record straight about how he’s not interested in hooking up, or whatever she’s here for.

 

“Yeah. That’s me. And I’m flattered, but I don’t -”

 

The woman doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Great. Awesome. You’re in the second studio today, because I’m using this room for my yoga class.”

 

His lips part in surprise. Okay, this doesn’t sound like fangirling. Other than her initial (rather appreciative) perusal of his body she’s very decidedly _not_ acting the way most other women act around him; breathless and flirty and all too desperate for his attention.

 

Instead, the woman starts kicking the yoga mats inside haphazardly, then walks across the room to plug in her laptop to the power point in the corner. Oliver rotates on his heels, watching in silent frustration as she returns to the mats and starts laying them out all over the room, blatantly ignoring the fact that he’s in the middle of a workout.

 

This is new. And annoying.

 

It’s when she reaches out to move his kettlebell that he’s jolted out of his stupor. His hand shoots out to grab it from her fingers and he glares at her.

 

“Uh... _no_ , this is my space for the rest of the day,” Oliver grits through his teeth. “I have this room for personal training, not for some yoga class.”

 

“Not today you don’t. And it’s not _some_ yoga class, I’ll have you know that it’s one of the most popular group classes here and everyone loves it.”

 

She’s short and tiny and has to crane her neck to look up at him, but the defiance in her startling blue eyes hints at an underlying strength of character and stubbornness that makes her just a little intimidating.

 

And Oliver doesn’t like feeling intimidated.

 

He flexes his muscles involuntarily. “Okay, listen here -”

 

“Don’t you check your emails? Dig sent us all the schedule change last week,” she interrupts and nudges him aside so she can roll out another mat. “He moved my yoga classes to the mornings since I can’t run the afternoon classes anymore and the second studio is too small for a class but not too small for your clients. It really is all in the email.”

 

He can’t believe it. She obviously works at the gym, but he doesn’t know her so she must be new. New, and already bossing him around like she _owns_ the place? That just won’t do.

 

“I don’t know what email you’re talking about but this is my space, for my clients -”

 

“Hey!” She cuts him off again, her voice echoing through the room. Oliver cringes at the volume and prays that Sara doesn’t come barging in at the commotion. The last thing he needs is _another_ feisty blonde all up in his face this early in the morning. God help him.

 

She fixes him with an angry glare, then pokes him in his chest like it’s meant to hurt him. It would be amusing if she wasn’t currently annoying the hell out of him.

 

“Look, I’m here because Dig told me to be here. And as far as I know he’s the boss so what he says goes. It’s not my fault you don’t read emails - actually, you probably don’t read anything else either, from what I know about you, which... okay, that isn’t fair. You dropped out of a lot of colleges but that doesn't mean you don’t read. I’m sorry, I don’t actually know you. Except that I know from Sara that you’re kind of a man-slut and -”

 

The woman’s eyes widens, then slams shut instantly, mouthing a silent _three, two, one_ before she opens her eyes again.

 

He, on the other hand, bristles at the mention of _‘man-slut’_ which, granted, is someone he will admit to being before the island, but having this complete stranger just assume the worst of him _now_ is really infuriating.

 

“My point is,” she begins again, slowly, unaware of his growing irritation. “I’m here because Dig told me to be, so you can either take it up with him, or join in. Either way, class starts in fifteen minutes and if you’re not ready to downward dog with me, you best get your sweaty, shirtless, god-like body outta here.”

 

She sucks in a breath and turns around, going back to ignoring him and to finish setting up.

 

God-like?

 

Well, that’s... _nice_ , at least. A whole lot better than _man-slut._

 

He studies her for a second, listening to her humming an unrecognisable tune as she moves about. It’s clear he’s lost this argument, not that he ever stood a chance if he’s being honest. She’d just come in and taken over the studio for her damn yoga class.

 

Sighing in defeat, he packs up his equipment, slings his shirt over his forearms and walks out the door.

 

Right into Sara.

 

“What now?” He growls testily when she refuses to move out of his way.

 

Sara arches up on the toes to peer over his shoulder, a shit-eating smirk on her face. “Met Felicity, have you? Heard some yelling coming from over here. What’d you do?”

 

The name rings a bell. Right. Felicity Smoak, the yoga instructor Dig recently hired in an attempt to appeal to the younger demographic of Starling City. See? He reads _some_ emails.

 

“I didn’t do anything!” he protests. “She’s the one who barged in on my workout and kicked me out of my own studio.”

 

“Technically, it isn’t _your_ studio, Dig changed the schedule,” Sara says, chuckling and seriously, if he hears another word about this dumb change of schedule he’s going to have to punch something. Really hard.

 

Sara barrels right on, oblivious to his irritation. “She’s a spitfire, that Felicity. An adorable, really hot, spitfire. I love her. Bumped into her after an evening class last week and she was ripping Roy a new one for messing up her laptop. He goes into hiding whenever she’s around now.”

 

Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose. “Good to know I’m not the only one she’s being annoying to.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think she’s annoying him, exactly. I think Roy has a crush on her. It’s cute.”

 

Oliver tilts his head at Sara. Roy is a kid, barely older than Thea. Felicity on the other hand - he half-turns to the woman in question, who’s now bent over her laptop -  is a _woman_. A rude, frustrating woman who can’t seem to control what comes out of her mouth, but a woman nonetheless. With an ass that -

 

“If you’re done staring at her, Ollie, can you get out of the doorway? I want a good spot today.”

 

Oliver whips his head back around, heat warming his cheeks at being caught out so easily. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eye when Sara wiggles her eyebrows at him. The implication is not lost on him and all Oliver can do is sigh.

 

“You don’t even _like_ yoga,” he mutters as he takes a step back to let Sara through.

 

Sara throws him a wink over her shoulder as she saunters towards Felicity. “Oh, Oliver, I’m not here for the _yoga._ ”

 

* * *

 

Felicity’s encounter with Oliver before her class had been interesting, to say the least. She knows he works at the gym - everyone in Starling does, because hello, it’s Oliver Queen - but she usually runs the evening yoga classes and Oliver trains his clients during the day, so they’ve never crossed paths before.

 

Until this morning, that is, when she ogled, babbled and insulted her way through their entire conversation. She’s marginally surprised she survived the encounter unscathed, considering the words that had come out of her mouth. She can’t even begin to imagine the kind of impression she’s made on him.

 

Perfect. Just perfect.

 

His last name is emblazoned on the outside of her office building and she’d called him a _man-slut_. He doesn’t work at Queen Consolidated but she suspects that being Moira Queen’s son means that he still has some influence whether or not he’s an official employee with the company.

 

What if he tells his mother about the rude yoga instructor at the gym and they find out she works for them and Oliver gets her fired? She just got a promotion! And a sweet office upgrade, and -

 

Okay. There’s no need to get ahead of herself.

 

All she has to do is set the record straight, explain that she had been a little jittery what with it being the first day in her new position at work, and honestly he was being equally rude with his whole _‘It’s my studio_ ’ thing in the first place so...

 

“Felicity?”

 

Jumping at her name, she spins around, her bag colliding with a solid wall of muscle. “Oh, hey Dig. Good morning!”

 

“You waiting for an autograph?” He lifts an eyebrow, glances past her into the studio where Oliver’s finishing up with his client, then back at her, amused. “Didn’t peg you as one of his fans.”

 

“I’m not - that’s not what -” she splutters, caught off guard by his teasing. John Diggle isn’t a man of many words, so the playful tone in his voice is a little unsettling. She sucks in a breath. “I’m not. I’m just waiting until he’s done so I can talk to him.”

 

“You and everyone else, it seems.”

 

Sure enough, when she inches on her tiptoes to peer over Diggle’s shoulder, there’s a group of women loitering in the hallway, sneaking casual glances her way, unreadable expressions on their faces.

 

Grimacing, she falls back onto her feet and scratches the back of her neck. “I didn’t realise there was a line. Oliver and I got off on the wrong foot this morning, and I wanted to uh... I don’t know. Set things straight.” She chuckles nervously.

 

Somehow she doesn’t think _‘I called my boss’ son, who also happens to be your famous celebrity trainer, a man-slut and then implied that he’s stupid for not finishing college, so I need to talk to him to make sure he doesn’t ask his mother to fire me_ ’ would go down well with Diggle.

 

“Mm, okay, sure.” Diggle laughs, patting her shoulder sympathetically like he doesn’t believe her.

 

Whatever. She just needs two minutes with Oliver, tops, and then they can go back to not interacting with each other ever again.

 

Just as Diggle takes his leave, still chuckling to himself, she hears Oliver tell his client to pack up. She shoulders her bag and strides into the studio before the others realise that he’s done, narrowly avoiding the very sweaty young man departing the studio looking like he’s about to drop dead on his feet.

 

“He’s an asshole, he’ll kill you,” the man wheezes, a hand on his heart. Felicity bites her lip, withholding a bark of laughter and just waves him off, noting with some interest that he’s wearing a Star Labs shirt.

 

“Come to steal this room from me too?” Oliver growls from across the room where he’s putting his equipment away.

 

Yikes. He still sounds grumpy. Felicity swallows and makes her way to him, stopping a few feet away just in case he decides to throw something at her in anger.

 

“I didn’t steal the room from you in the first place,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Diggle -”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time.” He rolls his eyes and changes his voice to a higher pitch in an attempt to mimic hers. Mocking her. “ _It’s all in the email._ ”

 

Felicity feels a surge of irritability rise and she steps forward, folding her arms over her chest. “I just wanted to clear the air. You don’t have to be rude about it.”

 

Oliver wipes the back of his hand over his brow, making his shirt ride up, and Felicity’s presented with at tantalising glimpse of his skin and muscle definition just above the waistband of his shorts.

 

Mm. Very nice. Nice, and totally unfair that someone with such an attitude is this hot, she laments to herself.  

 

Oliver steps past her, eyebrows arched because he totally just caught her admiring his body. _Again_. Ugh.

 

“I’m not being rude, you’re the one who walked in here uninvited, by the way.”

 

“I don’t have to be invited, this is a shared space and I waited until you were done with your client,” Felicity argues. “I just wanted to clear the air, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot and -”

 

“And what? Maybe take the opportunity to stare at me some more? I noticed how you can’t keep your eyes off me.”

 

He leers at her, letting his mouth curve up into a dangerous smirk. “I’m not much of a man-slut these days, as you so eloquently mentioned earlier, but did you think I’d make an exception for you?”

 

Felicity rears her head back, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She swallows and shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable,” she whispers, mostly to herself, once again internally cursing her stupid lack of filter.

 

Oliver folds his arms over his chest, shrugging. “Look, I don’t have time for this... whatever this is. Consider the air cleared. Feel free to leave now. I’ve got other clients waiting.”

 

He turns his back to her in a clear dismissal, picking up a barbell, testing its weight in his hands.

 

Felicity really can’t seem to reconcile this Oliver with the Oliver that Sara and Diggle are constantly talking about - the reformed playboy trying to keep his head down now that he’s been given a new lease on life. The way they talk about him painted a picture of a man dedicated to his job, good-natured, with a big heart - especially when it comes to his friends and family. It’s entirely possible her two friends are blinded by the fact that they have history with him.

 

From what she can tell, the Oliver Queen in front of her is just your everyday, entitled asshole.

 

“Okay, fine,” she proclaims. It’s clear Oliver isn’t going to play nice so she’s not wasting anymore time on him. “I’d say hope to see you around at some point, but that would be a lie.”

 

She adjusts her bag, rolls her shoulders, and turns away from him to leave the room. She pauses at the doorway, sighing at the crowd that’s gathered there, clearly intrigued by her and Oliver’s exchange.

 

“He’s all yours, ladies. Go nuts,” she mutters as she pushes her way past them without another glance back.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver doesn’t see Felicity again for an entire week after that first, very unfortunate day.

 

No, that’s not true.

 

He _does_ see her, but only through the studio’s frosted glass windows when she teaches her classes.  He’s ashamed of the way he acted when they last spoke and now he’s unsure how to conduct himself around her. Every time he catches a glimpse of her, a wave of gut-churning embarrassment washes over him and it makes him hesitant to engage her in any sort of conversation.

 

It’s not like he was intentionally trying to piss her off. He had made the very wrong assumption that Felicity was one of the ‘groupies’ Sara keeps teasing him about and had reacted horribly to it. Then she’d come back a second time in an attempt to fix things and he's man enough to admit that he had royally fucked that up too.

 

He knew he’d taken out his frustrations on her unfairly the moment she stormed away from him, possibly setting himself up for a potential sexual harrasment suit, but by the time he’d gotten his head out of his ass (Sara’s words not his) and calmed down, it had been too late.

 

For days after, he tries to make eye contact with her so he can attempt to apologise,  but she’s always either too busy with her class, or ignoring him on purpose, quickly breezing past him even when he's sure she knows he's waiting for her outside her classes.

 

“Can’t you just be _normal_ and you know, go up to her and apologise, instead of creepily stalking her outside her class?” Sara chimes in on Monday morning, startling him from his evidently not so subtle attempt at catching Felicity’s attention.

 

He’s leaning against the counter at the gym’s reception area, conveniently situated right outside the studio Felicity’s teaching in. If anyone walks past, it’s easy enough for him to pretend he’s working on the computers and not... being creepy.

 

“I don’t want to interrupt her,” Oliver argues. “She doesn’t need more reasons to hate me, Sara.”

 

“Hate is a strong word,” Diggle joins the conversation, clapping a hand over Oliver’s shoulder, smirking as he squeezes in next to Sara. “She’s too nice to hate anyone.I think it’s more of a... severe dislike.”

 

Oliver scowls at his friend. He’s not used to anyone disliking him - not to his face, anyway - which is exactly what Felicity is doing, openly ignoring him like he’s dirt on the underside of the ridiculous heels she changes into after her classes. If only she’d give him a chance to plead his case...

 

“I was... not in the best mood, I’ll admit to that. But would it kill her to give me like a second out of her day to let me explain?” Oliver huffs. He glares at her fuzzy silhouette through the frosted glass as she walks in between her students, correcting their form. “I can’t believe she’s written me off based on one conversation.”

 

“Two, actually. Two conversations.” Sara offers, like she thinks she’s being helpful. “And bad mood or not, it didn’t mean you were allowed to be an ass, Ollie. And you _were_ an ass, from what I heard. God knows she gets enough of that at work.” She leans back, catching Diggle’s eye and they both nod sagely, agreeing.

 

“Uh, what does she do for work?” he hears himself asking, and his two friends exchange a _look_ that makes him cringe.

 

“She works for you, dude.”

 

This time it’s Roy who butts into their conversation and Oliver’s starting to get worried about how it might look when the yoga class ends and they’re all squeezed in together at reception, just outside the door, staring into Felicity’s class.

 

Wait. Hang on.

 

“She works for me?” he blurts out incredulously, turning to Roy. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“For your mother, I mean. Sorry. Your family. She got promoted last week to some fancy new position, that’s why she can’t take the evening yoga classes anymore. Working late and all that,” Roy supplies, hopping on top of the counter, even as Diggle tries to shove him off it because _‘This is a place of business, Harper, not your goddamn home!’_

 

“What he means is that she’s the VP of the Queen Consolidated Applied Sciences division. A young woman in a male-dominated field. So, you know. Assholes everywhere,” Sara adds. “Her ex-supervisor was _not_ happy she got promoted over him and she’s been... dealing with the fallout.”

 

“Oh.”

 

She works for the Queen Consolidated. 

 

That’s an interesting development. 

 

“What’s that look on your face?” Roy wonders out loud, tilting forward so his face is right in front of Oliver’s. “You look like you’re thinking. Hard. That’s new.”

 

“Shut up, Roy,” Oliver replies automatically. He backs away from the reception area, a plan forming now that he’s got a hold of this brand new information. He doesn’t need to corner her after her class anymore - wow, yeah, that does make him sound like a creepy stalker - and he definitely doesn’t need the peanut gallery watching him as he tries to make amends with Felicity.

 

“What are you gonna do, Oliver?” Sara asks, curiosity dripping from her words. “She’s not going to appreciate you doing anything stupid, you know that right?”

 

He cuts her off with a wave, making his way back to the locker rooms. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

 

Diggle’s voice rings out behind him in warning. “You better not!” 

* * *

 

_“Oliver Queen!”_

 

Felicity's voice echoes thorugh the gym as she marches past Sara and Roy huddled together at reception, ignoring the alarmed looks on their faces. A few people in the free weights area turn to look at her as she storms in but they don't phase her. 

 

She barges into the studio where she knows he’s training in and throws the bouquet of flowers she carried all the way from her office straight at him.

 

Oliver’s quick reflexes means that he avoids getting hit by the flowers, but in his surprise, he drops his dumbbells, only narrowly avoiding his toes.

 

“What the fu- Are you _crazy?!_ ” he yells, hands gesturing wildly at his feet. “That could have really hurt!”

 

”Well, _good!_ ”

 

“What are you even-”

 

“ _Dear Felicity_ ,” she begins reciting through gritted teeth; she doesn’t need to read the asinine card that had arrived with the flowers early that morning. She has it memorised, seared into her brain from the sheer embarrassment it’s caused.

 

“ _I’m sorry for my behaviour, you didn’t deserve it. Please let me make it up to you. Would you like to maybe work out together sometime? I know how much you appreciate my god-like body. Oliver_.” She spits his name out like it’s poison on her tongue and glares pointedly at him, rage coursing through her veins.

 

“Oh.” Oliver breathes out slowly. Then the jerk grins - he _grins!_ \- as he bends over to pick up the discarded flowers, placing them on the weights rack next to him. “I thought that would be funny, like an inside joke...”

 

“An _inside joke_? Oliver, you had them delivered to my place of work!”

 

He cocks his head in confusion and for a second, just a quick, negligable second, she thinks he looks kinda cute. Like a cute, confused little boy. “Well, yeah, I thought that would be best since you won't make time for me any other time.”

 

And just like that, her ire returns in full force and all notions of him being any form of cute disappears because, what? He just assumes he can send flowers and suggestively worded cards to her work because she refuses to be one of the many women who would kill to spend time with him? Presumptuous asshole!

 

“Reception sent it to IT, who sent it up to Applied Sciences, where it sat at my assistant’s desk while I was in meetings all morning, right there, for _everyone_ walking past to read your dumb card!”

 

Realisation slowly dawns on his face and his grin falters. “Ah...”

 

She doesn’t know how, but she ends up right in his face, one hand flat against his chest, shoving him backwards. Jesus, he’s so _solid_. 

 

“Everyone at work thinks I’m _sleeping_ with you!” she seethes at him. “It was bad enough when they thought I was sleeping with Walter for the promotion, now they think I’m doing _you_ too! Ugh! Felicity Smoak, resident vixen of Queen Consolidated. Gee, that would look amazing on my resume when they inevitably fire me, won’t it?! ”

 

“Okay, okay, wait, you’re being dramatic - hey, stop hitting me!” he growls, catching her wrist before she can hit him again. He yanks her hand down, away from his chest, but doesn’t let go.

 

“Look, I just wanted to make amends, okay? I’m doing something nice for you, what’s the big deal? I felt bad and I didn’t think it would be a prob-”

 

“Of course you didn’t! Because as long as _you_ feel good about yourself, nothing else matters! God forbid you think about other people for just one second in your life,” she cuts him off angrily, stepping further into his space.

 

Oliver’s lips twitch and it looks like he's trying to hold back an angry snarl - seriously, how dare he be angry at _her?_  She's the one with her reputation on the line here! - and there’s a vein that’s pulsing in the middle of his forehead she only just notices. He towers over her rather scarily with his ridiculously wide chest and bulging biceps and if she stands any closer to him she’ll go cross-eyed but she doesn’t back down. No way. His eyes are blazing bright blue and the grip he has on her wrist, while not hurting her in any way, hasn’t loosened.

 

“Don’t pretend like you know me!” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. “Because you _don’t_.”

 

“I don’t need to know you to know I don’t want or need this kind of attention from you,” Felicity hurls back at him, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. “The whole _‘I’m a dumb jock, I’m so hot and charming, everyone please, fall at my feet’_ schtick that you’ve got going on doesn’t work on everyone, least of all me, and you can't bribe me with some stupid apology flowers, so just quit it, okay?”

 

" _Dumb jock?!_ ”

 

Huh. That's the part he's fixated on? Interesting. She rolls her eyes. “Well, if the shoe fits.”

 

“I’m - I can’t even -” Oliver sputters, finally stepping away from her. “Do you think that all of this,” he gestures down his body. “Just happens because I’m a dumb jock? It takes a lot of training, and research and dedication to even come cl-”

 

Felicity throws her hands up in exasperation. “Why are we even talking about your body right now?”

 

“Because you were insinuating that all I’m good for is my physical appea-”

 

“You know, I bet I could take you.” She flinches, then freezes on the spot the moment the words fall from her lips. That was meant to be an _inside_ thought. Crap. She watches Oliver’s forehead crinkle, clearly confused by her words.

 

Yeah, what the _fuck_ , brain?!

 

Oliver’s staring at her with a strange look on his face, like he can’t believe what he’s heard and honestly, she doesn’t blame him. He narrows his eyes at her, head tilting.

 

“You... think you can take me?” He clears his throat before continuing, speaking slowly. “As in, take me down? Physically?”

 

Felicity gulps. “I don’t see why not,” she responds, with far more bravado than she logically should have. What is she _doing_? Why, _why_ does she not think before running her mouth?

 

Oh, boy. This will not end well.

 

“You teach yoga.” Oliver enunciates every word carefully. Condescending bastard. His voice drops into a low rumble that has no right to sound as sexy as it does. “It’s basically glorified stretching.”

 

Oh, okay. That - _that_ rankles her. She leans in to him, tilting her chin up, staring right into his dumb, scruffy face so he can feel the full effect of her rage.

 

“ _Glorified stretching!?_ ”

 

She’s not proud about the insane screeching noise that comes out of her mouth, but it makes Oliver wince and she thinks that it’s a worthwhile sacrifice of her dignity, for just a moment.

 

“Yoga is so much more than that and I bet you wouldn’t even be able to get through one of my advanced classes even if you tried.”  

 

“It’s _stretching_ ,” he repeats in the most infuriating manner. “Please. Talk to me when you manage to go a few rounds on the ladder -”

 

“I would wipe the floor with you on the stupid ladder!” she snipes. Maybe. Probably. She doesn't know what this _ladder_ is, but she has amazing upper body and core strength and really, how hard can climbing up a dumb ladder be?

 

Oliver scoffs. “You _wish_ you could -”  

 

“Hey, you two! What’s going on here?”

 

They both jolt apart at Diggle’s booming voice, startled, and Felicity makes a grab for Oliver’s elbow to stop herself from stumbling backwards. One of his hands curve around her waist to steady her, more from instinct than on purpose, she’s sure, and she finds that the warmth of his skin that seeps in through the thin material of her work blouse is not completely unpleasant.

 

Her gaze slips down to look at his hand, large and all-encompassing around her body, then darts back up to his face before she swallows and slowly peels his fingers off her.  

 

How the hell had they ended up so close together in the first place?

 

“Hi, Dig,” she plasters a smile on her face as she turns to the doorway where Diggle stands frowning at them, not at all amused.

 

“Oliver, you have a client waiting,” Diggle growls. “And you,” he tilts his chin at Felicity. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

 

His tone causes her to flash back to that time her high school principal called her into his office to reprimand her about hacking into the school network. Next to her, Oliver shifts uncomfortably on his feet and she feels better knowing that he’s equally chastised as she is.

 

She’s also annoyed, mostly at herself for getting caught up in their ridiculous argument. It’s not like her to get so easily worked up, especially over - what were they even arguing about? Yoga? God, it’s so stupid, but there’s something about Oliver that just... ignites all these really intense feelings within her and she really just wants to strangle him every time he opens his mouth.   

 

“Sorry Dig,” she mumbles as Oliver apologises to Diggle at the same time.

 

She casts a stray glance at the flowers lying on the weights rack, then shakes her head before grabbing and hurling the bouquet into the trash can by the door, ignoring Oliver's indignant cry of 'Hey, those were expensive!" as she stalks out the door.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super stoked about how many people have embraced this AU. Thanks for all your love, everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you think you’re doing?”

 

Roy spares a second to turn around at Sara’s voice, tinged with curiosity. He clears his throat and feigns nonchalance. So what if he drags his chair just a little closer to the table, trying to obscure her view of the computer? It’s none of her business, really. “Nothing. Nothing that concerns you, anyway.”

 

He can feel her hovering over his shoulder, blatantly disregarding the concept of personal space, studying the computer screen like the nosy busybody that she is. After a moment, Sara sighs and pulls out the empty chair next to him, making herself comfortable.

 

“Do you remember when you first started here?” Sara asks, placing both of her hands on the armrests of his chair and spinning it so he’s forced to face her.

 

Of course he does. He’d just been caught by the cops, Sara’s father, actually, trying to break in to Spartan - he doesn't remember why anymore, but it could have just been because he was bored - and about to spend another dreary night in SCPD’s holding cells.

 

Then Dig had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, cut a deal with Quentin and the next thing he knew, he’s put to work at the gym, first as Dig’s towel boy and then as time passed, as an actual employee with a salary and dental and yeah, okay, he’ll forever be indebted to Dig’s good heart but.

 

“What’s your point, Lance?” he huffs. He needs to get back to this application before Felicity and her tech-y magic wizardry sniffs out what he’s up to and shuts him down completely.

 

“My point is that you’ve come so far, and you’ve got a good thing going here, do you really want to mess this up? Felicity is going to murder you for this. Entering her into a competition without her knowledge, with _Oliver_ as her partner? You might as well start planning your funeral, Roy. You can kiss goodbye to the rest of your life.”

 

Sara’s concern is touching, but unwarranted. Roy scoffs. “No, Felicity is going to be so proud of me since this is a genius idea. She likes genius-y things.”

 

“One, that’s not a word, and two, even if _she_ doesn’t kill you, Oliver will.”

 

That had occurred to him, yes. But he’s doing this for the good of the rest of the team,so he’s willing to risk their wrath. Because, seriously, the animosity between them is  getting so unbearable that even the less regular gym clients know to avoid crossing their paths if both of them are at the gym at the same time.  

 

So it’s perfect, really, how everything just fell into his lap.

 

Almost like destiny, and who was he to question _destiny?_

 

The flyer advertising for participants of a new reality TV show geared towards fitness buffs had been stuffed into the gym’s mailbox, which Roy had picked up as he walked in to start his shift that morning.  

 

The show is called Heroes or Zeroes, a competitive obstacle course race where contestants from different gyms have to survive a knockout round-style elimination process until one last team remains standing.

 

Like a sign from God, the moment he finished reading through the flyer, Oliver and Felicity had stormed through reception, ignoring him as they argued loudly about who had been the last person to use their shared studio and left a bunch of sweaty towels lying unattended in the room. Just like that, a fully-formed plan materialised in his head and he’d went on the website looking for an application form.

 

What better way to try and help them figure their shit out than to have them compete against _other people_ instead of each other for once? See? Genius. Even if it doesn’t work out the way he hopes it will, at the very least his scheme has the potential to provide a lot of entertainment (if you were not Oliver or Felicity that is), and as an added bonus, considering both his colleagues are fit as _fuck_ , the might actually win this.

 

Provided they don’t kill one another first.

 

“Did you get the green light from Diggle? You have to, since you’re technically entering them as Spartan representatives?” Sara asks, hands reaching for the flyer he’d crumpled up and tossed aside before getting on their website. She smooths it out, reading the small print like she doesn’t trust him to have done it himself. Rude.

 

“‘Course I did. He said yes. I think even he’s about to lose it with the two of them.”

 

Roy hunts and pecks at the keyboard in front of him, squinting at the computer screen as he fills out the form on the website. “They’re going to love me,” he insists. “What’s Oliver’s middle name?”

 

“Jonas. How do you know Felicity’s and not Oliver’s?”

 

Roy half turns to Sara and frowns. “Do you really have to ask that? Don’t pretend like _you_ didn’t sign up to like all her yoga classes the moment Dig hired her. I bet you even know how she takes her coffee.”

 

“Black, two sugars,” Sara answers promptly, then chuckles. “Yeah, okay, point taken.” She inches closer then points at the screen. “Put them in the advanced category. If you’re going to do this, at least do it right. Give ‘em a bit of a challenge.”

 

Grinning, Roy changes the selection and continues scrolling down the page. It’s a long form, outlining the requirements of the competition, but he skims past all of it. Oliver and Felicity can deal with that part.

 

“You know there’s a chance they’ll just... not do this, right? They were arguing about _yoga_ last week, of all things, and yesterday she took apart his salmon ladder to ‘make improvements’ just to mess with his training. They cannot physically be in the same room without biting each other’s heads off.”

 

Goddamn buzzkill Sara Lance. Roy scowls and hits the ‘Finish’ button, watching the entry form disappear from the screen, quickly replaced by a cheery ‘Submission Successful’ page.

 

He rolls his chair back, cracking his knuckles with confidence. “They’ll do it. She’s too competitive, and he’s too stubborn. Plus, once they realise how much money they could win, there’s no way they’ll turn it down.”

 

“Felicity’s making tracks to be the youngest head of the Nerd Department of Queen Consolidated, which Oliver’s technically the heir to. I really don’t think money is an issue.”

 

“You’re killing me here, Sara,” he grumbles. “Whatever. It’s done. This will be awesome, you’ll see. They’ll train all the sexual tension out of each other and everyone will thank me.”

 

Sara rolls her eyes, mouth opening to respond, but whatever clever retort she’s come up with is drowned out by the deafening bellow from Oliver’s office a second later.

 

_"What the FUCK is this?!”_

 

* * *

 

It’s not often that John Diggle finds himself amused, but today as he finds himself facing the glowering faces of two very unimpressed employees, he’s _very_ amused. He’s also annoyed, because he really should be using what little time he has in the day to spend with his budding family, but he’s enjoying how much the two people sitting in front of him are _not_ enjoying themselves, and he figures it’s all worth it.

 

Oliver’s practically vibrating with anger and Felicity’s fuming in that quiet way of hers, pink lips pulled into a tight frown, probably scheming about how to digitally ruin Roy for the rest of his life.

 

“You can’t seriously think this is a good idea,” Oliver grumps. “You know what’s a good idea? Firing Roy.”

 

“I’m not firing Roy, and I think this is a great idea. The gym gets a cut of the prize money, and you know we could use the cash. Plus, the media exposure will be good for us.”

 

He also thinks that forcing them to partner up for the competition means they’ll be forced to work out the hostility between them, which will be good for everyone’s sanity, but he doesn’t mention that.  

 

“Okay, John, firstly,” Felicity begins, and he knows she’s serious because she never calls him by his first name unless she means business. “Neither one of us consented to this. So, rude, much.”

 

Next to her, Oliver nods in agreement.

 

“Secondly, this is going to be on live TV. I don’t want to be on TV. You know how I am _without_ a camera shoved in my face, just imagine what a disaster this will be, John. Thirdly, he put us in the advanced category and that’s insane. Therefore, so _not_ a great idea and really, it’s not like I have a whole bunch of time for extra train-”

 

Diggle ignores Felicity’s first two concerns and jumps on her last one. She’s made it too easy. “So you don’t think you can do this? You don’t think you can pull this off between the two of you?”

 

“I so can pull it off,” Oliver argues as he takes the bait, hook, line and sinker. “It’s a strength based obstacle course. I know I can pull it off. If anything, it’s Felicity who - ”

 

Felicity reacts predictably, hackles raised, turning fully to face Oliver.

 

“Excuse me, did you even read the entire thing? Because it’s strength _and_ endurance based and maybe you can bench a million pounds or whatever but I’d like to see _you_ make it through an entire fifteen miles without dying.”

 

“And you think _you_ can?” Oliver bites back with a sneer. “With your st-”

 

“If you even breath the word _stretching_ one more time, Oliver, I swear to God -”

 

“Okay! You know what?” Diggle interrupts before they descend into the loud, childish bickering he knows they’re prone to. “You’re entered as part of the gym’s team, so I can just swap you guys out with others if you’re really so hell-bent against this. No problem.”

 

He almost laughs at the way they both turn to him simultaneously, twin looks of disbelief on their faces. Oliver might even be pouting.

 

“Swap us out?” Felicity is the first to speak. “You don’t want us to compete?” Oliver grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _‘Please, as if’_ under his breath.

 

Diggle nods. “I’m sure if I put a notice up there’ll be volunteers.” Smiling slyly, he pulls out his secret weapon. “Maybe even that Central City guy, Barry -”

 

“Screw Barry!” Oliver growls, leaning forward in his chair. “That kid can’t even -”

 

“- And Laurel, Sara’s sister?” he ignores Oliver’s indignant outburst, looking pointedly at Felicity this time. “She’s improved so much, even though she’s only had a few -”

 

“No way.” Felicity snaps. She’s leaning forward too, lips pulled back in a dangerous snarl reminding him of a very adorable, but very deadly cat. “No way, Dig. I’ve seen her train, and she doesn’t even come close to -”

 

“For once in my life, I agree with her,” Oliver interjects, jabbing his thumb in Felicity’s direction. “Definitely not Laurel.”

 

Felicity shoots him a strange look, and it could be because she’s confused about him agreeing with her, or confused that he’s almost-maybe insulting Laurel (since everyone and their grandmothers are well aware of Oliver and Laurel’s very complicated history) but Diggle can’t find it in himself to care because these two have quite literally fallen right into his trap.

 

He grins. “So then we’re all in agreement? If we want to win this, it’s gotta be with the two of you?”

 

Felicity licks her lips and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s no secret Oliver’s like the strongest one here, maybe second only to you, Dig...”

 

Oliver takes the compliment silently, but he does offer Felicity a small smile albeit a little begrudgingly. “And I suppose you’re not half-bad, from what Sara tells me.”

 

Felicity huffs, falling against the backrest of her chair.. “Wow, thanks, I’m _so_ flattered. A plus complimenting skills.”

 

“I would have tried harder if I knew I was being graded, Ms. Smoak,” Oliver drawls in what he must think is a charming move, but it just makes him look like a low-level, two bit sleaze.

 

“Okay! Great!” Diggle exclaims, clapping his hands once, grabbing their attention before they start arguing again. “I’m so glad to have both of you representing our gym for this. You're going to do great!”

 

“Wait, John.”

 

“Hang on. I didn't -”

 

“I’m sure you’ll make us proud, guys,” he tells them as he picks up his keys and grins.

 

The dumbstruck look on both his employees’ faces is hilarious and so worth the extra overtime, especially when he gets to tell Lyla everything that’s transpired today. He claps them both on their shoulders as he makes his way out of his office, unable to keep shit-eating smirk off his face.

 

John Diggle: 1, Oliver and Felicity: 0.

 

* * *

 

The door to Dig’s office opens and there’s a flurry of activity as Roy and Sara try to look like they weren’t trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. It doesn't matter though, since Dig’s preoccupied with his phone and doesn’t notice the two junior staff members lurking around the corner, hidden from sight, heads bowed together pretending to read through a health assessment pamphlet.

 

Oliver follows Dig out the office a few seconds later, expression unreadable. It doesn’t look like he’s _too_ angry, so Roy thinks that his job’s probably safe. For now.

 

When Felicity emerges from the office, however, it’s a whole different story. She’s visibly agitated, hands rubbing together as she hurries to catch up to Oliver.

 

“Hey, Oliver?”

 

Oliver stops and turns around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts. “What?”

 

“I just wanted to say, if you want don't want to do this, or if you do, but want to swap partners... I understand. We clearly don’t get along and this seems like a thing where you really should get along with your partner if you want to win, and maybe Sara’s a better fit for you? Didn’t you use to date before? Is date the right word if you were seeing Laurel when you uh." Felicity makes a rather obscene gesture with her fingers and it takes Oliver by surprise, if the way he quickly pushes her hands down, muttering a frustrated "Can you not?", is any indication. 

 

“Good god, why is she bringing that up now? So embarrassing...” Sara mutters darkly, drowning out the rest of what Oliver and Felicity are saying. “If they switch partners, there goes your grand master plan, Roy.”

 

“Shut up, will you?” Roy shoots Sara a dirty look. He wants to hear what they’re saying, not be bothered by Sara’s pointless commentary. “Trying to listen here.”

 

Turning back to the couple still standing motionless in front of Dig's office, he notices with piqued interest that something odd is happening between Oliver and Felicity. It’s not just the fact that they’re both talking to each other in a civilised tone and not several decibels too loud for once, but also, the permanently exasperated look on Felicity’s face whenever she’s around Oliver is gone, replaced by something far gentler than Roy’s used to seeing on her face when it comes to Oliver.

 

“All I’m saying is that I realise you’ve had your fair share of unwanted publicity what with, you know, coming back from the dead and all. Doing this will only add to that, and I’m going to say the worst and stupidest things on camera, and we’re going to fight like, all the time, probably, which absolutely will _not_ help and -”  

 

Oliver clears his throat, cutting her off and places both his hands on her shoulders so she stops fidgeting. He stares at her. “Felicity, do _you_ want to do this?" 

 

Felicity licks her lips and blinks at him like he's caught her off guard. When a few seconds pass without a response, Oliver sighs and continues. "Because if you don’t, that’s fine. The last thing I want to do is force you into doing something you don’t want to. I can find someone else. But... do you?” His voice has dropped into a low rumble, not a single trace of annoyance or irritation in his words. He keeps looking at Felicity with steady intent, carefully maintaining a polite distance, but they’re both just _gazing_  at each other so intimately it almost makes Roy feel guilty spying on them like this.

 

Almost.

 

“Have we entered the Twilight Zone? Is he being _nice_ to her?” Sara wonders idly beside him. Roy flings his arm out in the general vicinity of her face, trying to shush her, because this is _gold_ and her inability be shut up is  _ruining_ it.

 

Felicity is nodding slowly at Oliver, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth briefly as she contemplates her options. “Yeah, I think I want to do it. Could be fun.”

 

“With me as your partner?”

 

“Oh, God, can they just _bang_ already?” Sara chokes next to him, a hand clutched against her chest. “Like, look at that! They’re eye-sexing each other right there. Jesus.”

 

“Be quiet!” Roy hisses as he shoves her, a little harder than necessary, but he can’t deny the truth in her words. The tension between them is crackling, _sizzling_ more than usual and this time, it feels like it's not just irritation and frustration bubbling between them. If he didn’t know first hand how much time they actually spend fighting, he’d think they were hopelessly in love with each other.

 

“With you as my partner. Yes. Because like I said, you’re one of the fittest here, not that I’ve been checking you out or anything, of course. I mean, I have, but not like, on purpose! Just when you’re working out before my class and you’re always shirtless and those abs don’t happen on their own, duh, so -

 

Oliver catches the hand she’s waving erratically around her - something she does when she spirals into one of her legendary babbles and smiles.

 

He's smiling (smiling!) at her when he responds. “So it’s settled then. You and me. Partners. Dig's right. We're going to win this thing.”

 

Roy shakes his head at them, then rolling his shoulders back, turns to Sara, pleased with himself. "See? Plan worked. I'm a genius." 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you loved this, then I love you too! 
> 
> Twitter: @estheryam


	4. Chapter 4

It only takes Oliver three seconds into their first ever joint training session to realise that he’s underestimated Felicity’s abilities. _Severely_ underestimated her.

 

He’s used to seeing her in her loose, flowy yoga tops when she teaches her classes, so when she enters the small room and proceeds to take off her shirt, his breath catches in his throat and he has to blink twice to make sure he’s not seeing things.

 

Because her body is... a work of art.

 

The sports bra she’s wearing is a modest one, perfectly appropriate, of course, but what throws him for a loop is the sculpted definition in her upper body, barely hidden by the straps criss-crossing over her shoulder blades. She pulls her towel out of her bag, places her water bottle on the ground, all while Oliver stares at the way her back muscles ripple beneath her skin.

 

He already knows she’s got a really nice ass, he's not blind - and he thanks the powers that be that she’s wearing long, compression tights instead of gym shorts because he really doesn’t need more of a distraction today - but damn.

 

“You - uh.” Great. He sounds like a teenager seeing his first half-naked body. Get a grip.

 

“What?” She turns around and he’s gifted with a view of her bare midsection, not as defined as her back is, but still flat and solid and  _how?_

 

“You don’t... just do yoga, do you?” Oliver wonders out loud.  

 

“Nope,” Felicity mutters, scowling. “You just assumed that and, huh, explains why you didn’t think I could do this competition in the first place. Why... what are you staring at?”

 

He swears her babbling must be contagious because before he can stop himself, he says, “I’ve never seen you in just a sports bra before. You usually have more clothes on.”

 

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Well, so sorry to disappoint you, but I prefer to workout like this.”

 

“Trust me, I prefer you working out like this too.” He cringes. Ugh. That sounded douchey even to his own ears. Dear God, what is wrong with his mouth today?

 

Felicity purses her lips and her forehead does this cute wrinkly thing between her brows. She takes a moment, tilting her head the side like she can't decide how to respond. She’s probably going to yell at him. Which, yup, okay, he deserves because that’s something Ollie Queen would say and that’s not who he is anymore. Plus, it’s rude and disrespectful and Felicity’s one of the most infuriating person he’s ever met, but she shouldn’t be subject to this sort of behaviour.

 

But she surprises him, because instead of the Loud Voice he’s expecting (capital letters; he’s had experience with it and it’s something to behold - Moira Queen would be impressed), Felicity just exhales, shakes her head and waves her hands vaguely in his direction.

 

“I like this whole shirtless thing you’ve got going on too so I guess we’re even.”

 

He throws his head back in unexpected laughter. Of all the things he thought she’d say...

 

“It’s not that funny,” Felicity mutters, rolling her eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re unaware how ridiculously... muscle-y you are. It’s unbecoming. Just own it.”

 

“Well, so- _rry_ ,” he drawls, but they both know he’s not.

 

He follows her to the row of treadmills arranged along the wall, having already agreed that Felicity could take the lead in terms of their training for the first couple of days. It will give him a rough guide to where her fitness level is and tailor their program accordingly.

 

Much to his distaste, she gets onto a treadmill and pushes a few buttons on the control panel, about to get started with a cardio-based workout. He takes his cue from her, stepping on the machine next to hers.

 

“So, what else do you do then, besides yoga?” he asks, when he realises she never did answer his earlier question.

 

“Why is that important?”

 

Because I didn’t realise that’s what you look like under your yoga tops and you’re really hot, he thinks. But what he says out loud, after careful consideration is, “So I can see where we’re at in terms of training, that’s all. I can draw up a program for us based on -”

 

“Oh, I’ve already done that for us!” she tells him brightly. Her fingers tap on the screen in front of her and her machine whirrs to life. Then she turns to him, grinning. “Sent you an email, you should read it.”

 

He should be annoyed about this. He’s the personal trainer, he’s the one who took six months worth of classes for his qualification, which means _he_ should be the one out of the two of them writing their training program.

 

But Felicity looks so proud of herself and her smile is lovely and she’s really adorable - ah, jeez, he really needs to decide how he feels about her because being irritated and enamored by her at the same time is going to give him a complex. Still, Oliver can’t bring himself to dampen her spirits, especially if it keeps her from snapping at him so he lets it go.

 

“If I promise to read every single email you send to me from now on, will you let this email thing go, Felicity?”

 

“Never,” Felicity sing-songs, tapping her screen again to increase her treadmill’s speed.

 

Then, much to his chagrin, she reaches out to touch _his_ screen, apparently having caught on to his stalling tactics. She lets out an unimpressed sigh, to which he merely shrugs in response. He just really, really doesn’t like running, okay?

 

Her eyes dart up to him when she notices that he’s still hovering around walking speed. Her voice is laced with disbelief. “Is this seriously the best you can do? _Wow_.”

 

“No,” he grunts. God, he hates cardio, but now he wants to wipe the judgment off her face, so without breaking eye contact with her, he presses the button to increase his speed. Then just to prove a point, he holds it down for a while in a silent challenge until it definitely surpasses _her_ speed before turning back to face the front panel.

 

When he sees the flashing numbers on his screen, he gulps. Okay. Maybe he held that button down for a little too long.

 

His legs start pumping, faster and faster, hamstrings already pulling from the way he has to lengthen his stride to keep up. The last thing he hears before he tunes out the rest of the world to focus on not falling off the treadmill, is Felicity’s cackle of laughter echoing in his ear.

 

God. Damn. It.

* * *

 

 

 

“I can’t,” Felicity moans, face down, cheek pillowed on the ground, not caring that she’s lying in a puddle of sweat and grass and God knows what else.

 

What does it matter anyway, since she’s about to die in like, the next five seconds? It’ll be easier for them to bury her if she’s already on the ground, right?  

 

“Sure you can,” Oliver’s cocky voice floats over her head. “C’mon. Up, up!”

 

“Oliver, please, noooo.”

 

She feels his fingers wrap around both her biceps, and the next thing she knows, he’s hauling her up like a rag doll. She should be angry about the manhandling, should be yelling at him for this, and she _would,_ if she hadn’t just been put through the worst, most brutal workout of her. Entire. Existence.

 

Never has she regretted any of her life choices more than when she naively agreed to Oliver’s stupid ‘gauntlet’ circuit.

 

She knows it’s payback.

 

It’s his form of retaliation after she’d ruined him over the past three days. She’d expected him to call it quits after the first session when they’d battled it out on the treadmills, but he’d surprised her when, even on his knees, trembling from exertion and breathlessness, he smiled then said, “What else do you have for me, Smoak?”  

 

Which of course, meant that she’d upped the ante and put them both through some ridiculously intense cardio circuits the next day. He’d surprised her again, taking on every challenge like a trooper, even after their second session when he all but collapsed on the ground shouting at her for possibly giving him a heart attack.  

 

So when he insisted that it was his turn to design their strength training plan, she had no reason to say no. Even though she knew, from the way his lips curled up in that infuriating, self-satisfied smile, that he wasn’t going to pull his punches with her either.

 

In hindsight. she really, honestly, should have said no.

 

“One more circuit, and we can call it a day, I promise,” Oliver chuckles from behind her. His large hands move from her arms, gilding down to hold onto her waist, keeping her upright. If she wasn’t so preoccupied with the whole trying to stay alive thing, she’d be blushing at the amount of skin to skin contact he’s subjecting her to.   

 

“I can’t feel my hands, is that normal? I don’t think it’s normal. How am I supposed to do anything without my hands? I type for a living, and code and program, and my hands are super important, Oliver, you’ve killed my livelihood,” she babbles, listing backwards, not at all sorry that she’s basically making him support the full brunt of her weight against his chest.

 

This is entirely his fault so he can very well deal with her sweaty, lifeless body. It has nothing to do, _at all,_ with the fact that _he’s_ also slick and sweaty, and shirtless, and being pressed up against him in nothing but her sports bra allows her to feel the ridges of his very well-defined abs against her back.

 

It should feel more uncomfortable than it does, all hot and plastered to him like this, but it’s not. It’s thrilling and _delicious_ and his scars, while some may think are unsightly, appeals to her in ways she can’t even begin to understand. Maybe it’s because each one of them represents a juicy mystery she wants (needs) to solve. Or maybe it’s just as simple as the fact that they’ve both established that they enjoy their respective states of undress, so now all she wants to do is touch him. Like, all the time.  

 

Just to make sure his body’s real.

 

“Just one more,” Oliver coaxes, breath brushing over the top of her ear, right by her industrial piercing, causing an involuntary shiver to travel through her. He pushes her away gently from his body, palms dragging upwards to curve around the top of her shoulders and then turns her around so they’re facing each other. “It’ll take five minutes, tops, come on.”

 

Her entire body is screaming at her to say no to him. “I hate you so much, you’re the worst. Didn’t your mother teach you not to mistreat women? Just let me die.”

 

“Do you want me to let you die, or not mistreat you? Because they’re totally contradict-”

 

“Shut up.” Felicity glares at him. “Don’t make me hurt you. Virtually. In cyberspace. Because there’s no way I can do anything physically to you right now.”

 

Oliver grins, nonplussed. “Ah, remember when you said that you could ‘take me’?” He’s such an insufferable idiot. How dare he throw her words back at her? He keeps “Where’s _that_ Felicity? On vacation?”  

 

“Yes, and she’ll be back tomorrow to kick your stupid ass, but today she’s away. Not here. Gone. Bye. Pretend I’m the human version of a blue screen of death. Do you even know what that means? Probably not. My point is that I’m out. Done.”

 

Oliver takes her babbling in his stride, much to her surprise. “Well, then I’m going to tell everyone at the gym how you quit on me today. And that you’re just all bark and no bite,” he teases, and then walks backwards slowly, shrugging. “Unless you want to prove me wrong.”  

 

He runs to his starting point on the opposite end of the field before she can respond - how the hell he’s still on his feet, she doesn’t know, but his dumb taunts spark a flame inside her, igniting her streak of competitiveness, and her body reacts accordingly.

 

With a renewed surge of energy, she scrambles to her own starting point. She bounces on her toes and laughs at the way Oliver’s pumps his fists in the air from across the field, clearly pleased at her change of heart.

 

Over the last few days, she’s realised that Oliver’s not the uptight, douchebag jerk she initially thought he was. His eyes wander over her body more than a few times (which is flattering, really) but she can’t judge him for that when she’s enjoying watching him in all his shirtless, sweaty, glory too. And sure, they’re bickering and throwing insults at each other in between every set but that’s... kinda exciting in itself; refreshing to have someone who can keep up with her wit and, for some reason, also doesn’t seem to mind her incessant chatter.

 

She hates to admit it, but if she ignores her burning muscles, the sweat that’s constantly dripping into her eyes and the grime that will take hours in the shower to scrub off, she finds that she might actually be having fun with him.

  

“Are you ready, Felicity?”

 

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when he calls out to her, and she watches as he kneels down, fingers curling around the first set of really heavy weights he’d set out for himself. Sighing, she does the same, bending over and grabbing onto her own set of weights.

 

“Born ready. Let’s go, loser!”

* * *

 

 

Loud, generic, dance music pulses around him; some electro-rock mashup of sound that seems to be a hit, if the throng of gyrating bodies on the dance floor is anything to go by.

 

Once upon a time, Oliver would have been right in the middle of that, drunk and looking for someone to take home for the night. Not anymore. Tonight, he’s content with lounging in the secluded booth in the corner of the club, surrounded by a few of his good friends, sipping on his first and probably only drink of the night.

 

He’s enjoying the chatter between Roy, Diggle and Sara, paying just enough attention to respond accordingly when he has to, but really he’s just content listening to them, allowing himself to relax for the first time in days.

 

His entire body is sore, the result of six really intense back-to-back sessions with Felicity, on top of the regular sessions with his clients at the gym. In hindsight, they’ve probably gone a little harder than they should, seeing as they’re still only one week into their training, but all in all, he’s happy.

 

Which is wholly unexpected, since he thought he’d be annoyed and frustrated and tearing at his hair having to be in close quarters with Felicity for so much time. He certainly didn’t think he’d be looking forward to seeing her every day and if he isn’t always so wiped out after each session, he’d be worried about why that is.

 

“You okay there, Oliver?” Diggle asks, tipping his head at Oliver’s still half full bottle of beer. “You’re going slow tonight.”

 

“Ah, yeah. Just taking it easy,” Oliver answers, grateful that he can be honest with him. Long ago, before the island, ‘taking it easy’ would have resulted in snide judgement and sneers by his peers and - yeah. No. He definitely prefers the current company better.

 

“I thought for sure you’d be at least on your fourth one by now,” Sara says. “You know, carb load or whatever since you’ve been running yourself ragged these past few days.”

 

“I’m not running myself ragged.” Oliver rolls his eyes. What is she implying, anyway? That he’s tired? Burned out? No way. What has Felicity been telling her? “I feel great, actually.”

 

“So... you’re not mad then?” Roy hedges, running a finger around his glass of - Oliver doesn't even know what he’s drinking but it’s bright red. “That we... uh, signed you up for the show?”

 

“There's no _we_ \- _you_ signed them up,” Sara jumps in quickly. “I just told him your middle name.”

 

Oliver turns to Roy. “You don’t know my middle name?”

 

“Well, I do now!” he grumbles before gulping down a mouthful of his horrendous red drink. “Glad you’re not mad then. It all worked out just fine, see, Sara? I told you.”

 

“I still don’t like that you didn’t ask us first, Roy,” Oliver tells him. “And signing me up with Felicity was -”

 

Roy’s eyes light up. “The best idea, like, ever?”  

 

“ _Risky,_ ” Oliver growls. God, sometimes he wants to slap the perkiness out of the kid. “It was risky. She hated me before this, with reason, I guess, and I think she hates me less now, but she still insults me at least once every five minutes,” he pauses and glares at Sara who’s not even trying to hide her sniggering.  “And more importantly, we train differently.”

 

He thinks back to the ridiculous high intensity cardio workout that she’d subjected him to for three whole days that had rendered him immobile for hours after, but hadn’t seem to phase Felicity a single bit. Then, to the next three days of strength training that he swears nearly brought her to tears, but had made him feel absolutely amazing.  

 

“ _Very_ differently,” he repeats.

 

“But it’s working isn’t it?”

 

Oliver considers Diggle’s question for a second before shrugging. “Yeah, I suppose. Might have hit the mats a little too hard this week but I think so. She’s... not what I expected. Definitely stronger than I thought, and she kept up with me for the most part.”

 

“Hah!” Sara laughs, almost choking on her drink. “Weren’t you the one crying about having a heart attack on Tuesday after she made you run like ten miles?”

 

Oliver grunts. She was not meant to tell anyone that. “It was more like sprinting,” he mumbles. “She’s small - it’s easier for her to go fast!”

 

“Whatever you say,” Sara drawls. “Where is Felicity anyway? Did anyone tell her we were hanging tonight?”

 

Roy nods. “She said she had work to do. Something about servers and upgrades that she can only run when the office is empty. What a shame, I think she could use a night off. She works so much.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Diggle agrees. “Make sure she joins us next time. Can’t have her burning out on us.”

 

A strange swooping feeling settles in Oliver’s stomach at their words. He hadn’t given much thought about Felicity not being there with them, but now that they’ve brought it up, he can’t help but wonder what she’d be like when she’s not jacked up on adrenaline, yelling at him for being an entitled pig, or accusing him of trying to kill her with barbells.

 

What would casual Felicity be like?

 

It hits him that despite having spent almost two hours a day over the last six days with her, he still doesn’t know much about her. They don’t talk about anything other than their training, he realises, and even then, they’re short conversations, interspersed with the occasional snarky insults here and there.

 

Would she prefer wine, or beer, or something crazy like what Roy’s having, if she were her tonight? Does she even like partying, or is she more of a - what was the term Thea used - Netflix and chill kind of person?

 

And now that he’s started himself down that path, he can’t seem to stop. How did she get started at the gym? How did she get so good with computers? A barrage of Felicity-centric questions start crowding his head space and without giving himself time to change his mind, he brings his phone out and pulls up her contact details to send her a text.

 

_‘Are you done with work? Come to Verdant. I hear the owner’s best friend is feeling generous today.'_

 

He doesn't have to wait long for a reply.

 

_‘Don’t talk about yourself in the third person, you weirdo.'_

 

And then: ' _Still going with the servers. Won’t make it, say hi to everyone else for me!’_

 

Well, that’s that then.

 

He slides his phone back into his pocket and relays her message to his friends as instructed, pointedly ignoring the measured (Roy), half-amused (Sara), almost judgmental (Diggle) looks the rest of the table is giving him.

 

And the other thing he ignores?

 

The gnawing, swirling sensation in his gut that feels suspiciously like... disappointment.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early this week as I'll be on really long flights over the weekend. Leave a comment, leave some love if you're so inclined. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and Happy Holidays to those who don't!


	5. Chapter 5

Starling City finds out about Oliver’s participation in the TV show two weekends before the first round and it spreads like wildfire. Someone from the show’s production team leaked the contestant list and Oliver being _Oliver_ , makes the news headlines of all the local publications before anyone can stop it.  

 

It’s ridiculous, because it’s just a stupid TV show, a poor man’s American Ninja Warrior, really, and it doesn’t even rank anywhere close to the likes of other reality shows, but apparently the citizens of Starling City don’t care. They’re being represented and that’s all that matters to them.

 

Diggle for one, takes full advantage of this by putting up posters all over the gym: ‘Train where Starling City’s heroes train!’ and gleefully sits back as curious newcomers start signing up for memberships. Roy and Sara have their own fun with it, unable to stop laughing at the photos the media outlets have decided to use in their articles, most of which are paparazzi shots from Oliver’s younger years, drunk and stumbling into or out of some club.

 

Felicity however, barely gets a mention in any of the articles, something she’s grateful for (but Oliver thinks is completely unfair). Not for the first time in her life, she thanks her past self for being smart and wiping all traces of herself from the internet the moment she took the new position at Queen Consolidated. The one photo they have of her is from her employee access card. It’s grainy and zoomed in, but otherwise isn’t a bad picture.

 

It also helps that she’s a lot less interesting than the recently back from being presumed dead Oliver Queen so the gossip rags don’t put in too much effort in finding out who she is.  

 

“Kinda seems unfair, you know?” Sara tells Felicity on Monday, two days after the news first broke about Oliver’s participation in the show. They’re taking advantage of Felicity’s rare appointment and class-less morning to spar, something that they don’t find much time for since Felicity’s promotion.

 

“What’s unfair?”

 

“That Oliver’s getting all this publicity and no one even cares that you’re also a part of all of this,” Sara continues, as she expertly ducks under a punch. “You’re competing too.”

 

“I like it this way.” Felicity lunges forward to try again, steps aside at the last minute and taps Sara at centre mass. She jumps up and pumps her fists in the air. “Yesss! Got you, hah!”

 

“Don’t be so smug about it, try that one more time,” her friend mutters, throwing her a dark look. “But seriously, everyone’s all over him about this, don’t you think you should get your share of the spotlight too?”

 

“Uh, no. I’m only doing this as a favour to Diggle, since this gym needs the money. I don’t need reporters constantly harassing me about my diet, or fitness regime or whatever. I have enough on my plate as it is.”

 

Felicity scurries across the mat as Sara advances, a little uncoordinated, but it works as Sara’s punch goes wide and misses her.

 

“You’re moving so much faster, ugh. I hate all this extra training you’re doing,” Sara complains. “But you know people are going to get curious eventually right? Preliminaries are in two weeks, you won’t be able to escape the publicity then.”

 

“And I’ll deal with it when the time comes,” Felicity grunts as she narrowly avoids an uppercut and then throws both her hands up in surrender. “I’m done, I’m done!’

 

They pull off their gloves, walking towards the benches in the corner of the room. “You’re hitting a lot harder,” Sara comments as they start packing their things away. “Your sessions with Oliver are really paying off.”

 

The way she says it makes Felicity pause, narrowing her eyes at her friend. The smirk forming on Sara’s face is a dead giveaway and Felicity closes her fingers around Sara’s arm.

 

“What... what are you not saying right now?” she asks, wary.

 

“Nothing!”

 

“Sara.”

 

“I’ve just noticed that the two of you have stopped trying to bite each other’s heads off whenever you’re together, is all. It’s so much more peaceful around here. I appreciate it.”

 

“Don’t have time to argue when we’re going at each other so hard, and for so many rounds all the time so I guess -” She flounders and yelps when she replays what she’s just said in her head. “I mean! Going at each other at training! We don’t - not sex, of course. Not that that idea’s particularly terrible since he’s so pretty and it’s been like way too -”

 

“Who’s pretty?”  

 

The blood drains from her face as Felicity pivots slowly on her heels.

 

Of course. _Of course,_ Oliver chooses that moment to walk into the room, trademark lopsided grin on his face.

 

“No one,” Felicity replies quickly. Then off Sara’s barely suppressed laugh, she backpedals. “Roy. Roy’s pretty. Don’t you think? His jaw is all,” she makes a square with her fingers. “Sharp angles and stuff. He could be a model. Have you seen him shirtless? So pretty.”

 

Oliver looks at her weirdly. She can’t decipher the expression on his face but suddenly his smile falters and the light in his eyes seem to dim before he blinks and it’s all gone.

 

“Right. If that’s what you’re going for, sure.” He shrugs, then frowns when he notices the bag of gloves and mitts that Sara’s packing away. “I didn’t know you box.”

 

“Uh, yeah, a little,” Felicity answers. Her phone’s alarm goes off then, reminding her to get a move on so she’s not late for work. “Just for fun.”

 

“She’s being modest. She’s really good,” Sara quips. “I’m surprised you don’t already know this. You guys should spar sometime.”

 

Oh, that’s not a bad idea. It’ll probably be a lot of fun, being able to punch him and not needing a real reason to. She’s about to suggest throwing in a session or two this week when Oliver laughs and shakes his head.

 

“We already spend way too much time together, Sara. No thanks.”

 

Felicity freezes on the spot like she’s been doused with a bucket of ice.

 

There’s nothing amiss in what his says - his tone is still light and conversational - but it rubs her the wrong way. Here she is thinking that they’re making progress with the whole not wanting to kill each other every second thing, but it what if it’s all been one-sided and all this time he’s just been... what? Tolerating her? Gritting his teeth biding his time until this is all over? Of course he wouldn’t want to spend _more_ time with her.    

 

The revelation hurts more than she expects it to.

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, hating the way her voice catches in her throat and Sara shifts her gaze to her so quickly that she’s sure the hitch in her words hasn’t gone unnoticed. “We do. Two hours a day of staring at entitled white boy face is more than enough for me too.”  

 

It’s not like they’re best friends, they’re not even friends, really.

 

So why is the notion that he might not be enjoying their sessions together her affecting her so much? Stupid. You were being stupid, Felicity. All caught up in how good looking he is, and no doubt her post workout endorphins are wreaking havoc in her system, making her think that they could be anything more than two people forced to work together because of their meddling coworkers.

 

Well, at least she’s sorted herself out now. No more room for confusion here.

 

She’s sure Sara wants to keep talking about this, but she keeps her eyes carefully averted and busies herself with her bag. She shoves her towel in, her bottle, then zips it up, forcing a smile on her face.

 

“I gotta run. This was fun, Sara. See you later, Oliver.”

 

She gives neither one of them a chance to respond before she’s flying out the door.

* * *

 

 

_Running very late. Might not leave the office for hours, you’re on your own tonight._

 

That sounds... almost believable.

 

Felicity sighs, finger hovering over the send button. She’s not lying technically - she does have a lot of work to do, and it would be better to get it done sooner rather than later so cancelling on Oliver has absolutely nothing to do with this morning and everything to do with being a good, responsible VP of Applied Sciences.

 

She hits send before she can second guess herself.

 

Being this off-kilter, especially over a guy like Oliver Queen, is uncharted territory for her and she doesn’t like it. This stupid reality show has upended her quiet, uncomplicated life and if she knew how much it would change things for her, she’d have said no. Let Oliver compete with Sara, or Laurel or whoever else he’d rather be partners with.

 

And there it is right there. The root of her problem.

 

All the time she’s spent with Oliver since they were signed up for the show had made her reconsider her initial assessment of him. Sure, he’s still a cocky bastard sometimes, but more often than not it’s a direct result of her taunting him, or them trying to outdo one another during their training sessions. And even though their conversation topics rarely stray far from their training, he does gets this adorable, dopey look on his face the few times his sister is brought up so she suspects that beneath his stoic, grumpy exterior, he’s still a good guy at the heart of it all. A good guy with the potential to be a fun friend to have around if they ever manage to move past all their stupid bickering and fighting.

 

Which is why, she thinks, his words that morning had cut so deep.  

 

_‘We already spend way too much time together, Sara. No thanks.'_

 

Groaning, she runs a hand through her hair, fingers on pulling her elastic band so her hair falls in waves around her shoulders. He obviously hasn’t spared a second to consider them as friends and now she’s upset because Oliver made one off-handed remark about not wanting to dedicate more time to work out with her.

 

How old is she? Sixteen?

 

She’s better than this.

 

Her phone vibrates with a new message and she reaches out blindly for it. She almost drops it when she reads the incoming text from Oliver. Speak of the devil. _Think_ of the devil really.

 

_Gonna miss you_

 

She blinks dumbly at the message. What the -

 

She’s still picking her jaw off the floor when her phone vibrates again.

 

_r cries of pain. Sent too soon. Oops._

 

“Asshole!” she nearly sobs, half laughing at herself. She can picture Oliver smirking at his phone, knowing _exactly_ what he’s doing. And then another one arrives:  

 

_You know how bad I am with technology. Ditch your work. Come to the gym and teach me how to be better at it._

 

Okay, now he’s just being weird. For one, he hardly ever texts her except to confirm what time they’re meeting up. The last non-training related text he sent her was to invite her to his best friend’s club but when she’d declined, he’d been radio silent for the rest of the weekend, so three in a row from him tonight is already highly unusual.

 

And secondly, he’s pestering her about working out, which after what he said this morning about already spending too much time with her, is just...

 

Confusing. All of this is confusing.

 

And she doesn't have time for confusing.

 

She fires off a short _‘I really can’t, Oliver.’_ and slides her phone, screen down, across her desk so she doesn’t get distracted by him - and her feelings about him - again.

* * *

 

Walking into Queen Consolidated gives Oliver a lot of mixed feelings. It helps that it’s almost eight in the evening, and he only has to deal with a single curious security guard instead of the entire workforce questioning his presence there.

 

Still.

 

Mixed feelings.

 

He takes the executive elevator up to Felicity’s floor, having bribed aforementioned security guard with a box of spring rolls to get him to confirm that she’s still in her office working. As the carriage ascends and he watches the numbers light up, he thinks back to his younger days, when he’d ride the same elevator up to visit his dad, always reluctant, and always with with a dark cloud hanging over his head.

 

He never wanted to be part of the family’s legacy. Had never been interested in taking over and running the business, even after his parents had threatened to cut him off if he didn’t at least get a business diploma.

 

But now that his father’s dead and Thea’s all... Thea, he wonders if maybe he should have tried harder. If he’d just sucked it up and did what his parents wanted, his dad never would have forced him onto that boat to China and maybe he’d still be alive and...

 

The elevator dings, signalling its arrival and he clears the thoughts right out of his head as the doors slide open. He’s not here to wallow in regret and what ifs. He’s here to see if Felicity -

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Felicity’s voice cuts sharply through the general silence of the empty floor and he startles, not expecting her to already know he’s here. He glances around, then his gaze lands on her, staring at him from her desk, right through the glass wall of her office.

 

Her hair’s not in it’s usual neat ponytail. Instead, her pretty blonde waves (is her hair naturally that curly?) fall around her shoulders, making her look a lot younger and a lot less put together than she usually is. She’s exhausted, that much is clear. Still beautiful, though.

 

“Uh,” he navigates around her assistant’s desk and into her office. He hovers by the doorway with uncertainty. It’s a big space, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city, a small round table in the corner where he assumes she takes meetings and then the desk she’s sitting at, three computer screens partially obscuring her face.

 

They speak at the same time.

 

“Hi!”

 

“How’d you get up here?”

 

He ignores the slight tinge of hostility in her words. “You’d be surprised how much a box of spring rolls means to a bored security guard with nothing to do but stare at CCTV footage all night.”

 

“Wow, that’s reassuring,” Felicity mutters over a sigh. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

 

“You said you’d be here for hours so I figured I’d drop by with some sustenance.” He lifts his hand, showing her the bag of Chinese takeout he carried in with him. He watches as she zeroes in on the bag, eyes widening, then her tongue darts out really quickly to lick her lips.

 

He can see the slight apprehension in her face; the tilt of her head, her furrowed eyebrows. She’s scrutinising him like she doesn't know how to take his presence in her office and he suspects that brilliant brain of hers is running a million miles a second trying to make sense of why he’s here.

 

He’s not a hundred percent sure himself, except that he’d been overcome with the sudden urge to make sure she was doing okay after her strange, hasty departure from the gym that morning. And when she’d texted him to cancel on their training session, he knew without a doubt that something was up.

 

But now that he’s face to face with her, he’s starting to question the merits of his spontaneity. Before tonight, they’ve only met up at the gym or the field outside the gym, never in any other setting and definitely never for dinner, or anything even close to it. Suddenly, he feels self-conscious about his spur of the moment decision to bring her dinner.

 

This is her domain, her territory and he’s just waltzed right in without any consideration, and he winces as he remembers, a little too late, that this is exactly what she yelled at him for when he sent her those flowers and here he is _again_ just -

 

“Is that from Tsings?”

 

She interrupts him mid-thought, and he notes that she doesn't look like she’s about to kick him out of her office. Good start. 

 

“Yeah. They’re really strict about being nut-free and since you’re allergic I thought it was the safest place to get takeout.”

 

Felicity gets out of her chair slowly. “I never told you I was allergic to nuts.”

 

Is she... mad about that? Her eyes flash with suspicion and even though his first instinct is to snap at her for it, for being so frustrating about this nice thing he’s doing for her, he holds it back. He’s the one who dropped by unannounced after all. 

 

“I offered you my protein bar once and you turned it down because it had nuts in it. I assumed it was because you were allergic,” he explains.  

 

“Oh. Okay. You assumed right, for once.”

 

“I’m sorry if I.. overstepped.” He finds himself saying, trying to ease the uncomfortable tension that’s brewing between them.

 

Why can’t she just accept this for what it is - a very nice gesture? He’s so tired of constantly being at odds with her, so on the edge with every sentence that comes out of his mouth, when all he wants to do is just get to know her a little better. 

 

He rolls his neck, choosing his words carefully. “You were a little off this morning after boxing with Sara, and then you got swamped with work and I thought maybe you could use a break so I thought why not bring you food... but it didn’t occur to me that you might not want the company. I can go, if you like.”

 

She seems like she’s fighting with herself trying to decide her next course of action. Eventually, she comes to a decision and it appears to erase whatever misgivings she has about him being there. The simmering tension between dissipates as she smiles, the air shifting into something more pleasant and welcoming.

 

Thank God.

 

“Thank you, this is really sweet. And don't go, I’m starving, so perfect timing!”

 

She darts out from behind her desk and hurries to the table in the corner, indicating for him to follow her. She starts to clear the table, moving a pile of papers onto the floor to make room for the food he’s brought over.

 

“I lost track of time,” she says as they start unpacking the containers from the bag. “The code we’re compiling had a nasty bug in it that was a pain to iron out and I’ve been back-and-forthing with the techs in our Central City branch because they don’t think my approach is the right one to take - which, it is, by the way, when will people start realising I'm always right? And then Cisco insisted the ...” she falters at the blank look that he must have on his face. “Anyway. Thank you. For this. This looks great.”

 

Sinking into a chair by the table, she starts picking at the food enthusiastically. He got a few different dishes, a little bit of everything and Felicity piles her plate up, giddy like Christmas has come early. It’s almost comical, actually, and he grins while he pulls out a chair and sits down across from her.

 

“Aren’t you having any?” She asks after a few minutes of companionable silence.  

 

“I already ate,” he answers. “These don’t fit with my macros anyway.”

 

Felicity scoffs at his answer. “Right, _of course_ you count macros.”

 

Oliver picks up a piece of chicken that’s fallen out of the container and tosses it in her direction, to which she just rolls her eyes at. “Don’t judge. You don’t get to look like me by being reckless with food, you know.”

 

“Uh huh, but you get to look like _me_ , and,” She winks at him  - oh, it’s so cute, she can’t wink properly, she just kind of scrunches up her face in an attempt to shut one eye - then points her chopsticks at him. “We both know I look good.”

Oliver chuckles. “I don’t disagree.” The appreciation he has for her body is not a secret so it doesn’t phase him anymore when she talks about how good she looks. Though it doesn’t stop the slight wave of heat that spreads through him that makes him squirm in his seat.

 

“Anyway,” Felicity continues before spearing into a dumpling and taking a bite out of it. “This  is weird if you’re not eating too. Wanna go for a walk? I can take this to go and show you our labs so you’re not just watching me eat.”

 

She doesn’t wait for an answer, tipping her plate of food into a takeout box that’s easier to carry around. She makes a point to hip-check his shoulder as she walks past him.

 

“C’mon. Lets go.”

* * *

 

Felicity’s so insanely smart; that was abundantly clear the moment they met, but the best part about it is that she isn’t smug about it. She presents it as a matter of fact if anyone asks, and then goes about her life like everybody else, which is why sometimes he forgets that she’s actually, like, a _certified genius_.

 

Until days like today when he’s just... completely in awe of her.

 

She’s rattling off statistics and specs while she points out various little gadgets out to him as they walk through the underground research lab. A lot of what she tells him goes over his head and he tries to keep up, but in the end he just nods along to the parts he does understand and files away what he doesn’t to look up later.

 

He’s going to have to look up _a lot_ of things.  

 

It occurs to him that she carries herself differently down here in the lab, surrounded by all the computers and tech and the by-products of her hard work. She’s still adorably awkward, still talking a mile a minute like her mouth can’t keep up with thow fast her brain works, stumbling over her words when she catches him looking confused at whatever fancy tech she’s trying to explain to him. She doesn’t, however, go off on irrelevant tangents, or make unintentional innuendos that leave her all red and flustered.

 

She’s comfortable, vibrating with excitement at the things she’s showing him. It’s a new side of her he hadn’t been privy to before, and Oliver doesn't know what to do with the fact that these are the sorts of things that he notices about her now.

 

While he’s at it, he also doesn’t know what to do about the tingling warmth curling around his heart every time she smiles at some piece of technology like its a precious little baby. It's like her joy is bringing him joy and it's been a really long time since he's been able to say that about anyone.   

 

“Is this too boring for you? We can go back up to the office if you want.”

 

Her voice snaps him out of his musings and he shakes his head vehemently. “No, no. This is really... I’m not bored, I promise.” When Felicity doesn’t look convinced, he goes for the truth. “I’ve never given the family business a lot of thought and to me the company has always just been... that. A company. It never occurred to me all of this,” he waves his hand around. “Is also part of it. The creating and inventing. It’s eye-opening.”

 

“In a good way?”

 

He hears the doubt in her voice and he’s quick to reassure her. “Yes, in a really good way.”

 

Felicity beams at his reassurance, her entire face lighting up like she’d been seeking his approval by bringing him down here and he’s just given it to her. It’s absurd that she thinks she needs it in the first place, and all of a sudden he wants to hunt down every person who’s ever questioned her abilities and maybe punch them a little bit. In the face. Repeatedly.

 

“You’re amazing, Felicity. Don’t ever doubt that.” It slips out of his mouth unfiltered, and Felicity’s mouth falls open in a small ‘o’.

 

“Uh... thanks?” She tosses her takeout box in a nearby trash can, taking her time as she turns her back to him like she’s deciding how to proceed.

 

_Fuck._

 

They were having a nice time for once, not a single insult or barb thrown at each other all night, and he’s just gone and messed it up by being a complete, hopeless idiot. They don’t do this - give compliments out randomly, that is - and the simmering tension from before rears it head again, thick and uncomfortable with every second that passes by in silence.

 

“Felicity, I-”

 

“No, Oliver, really. Thank you.” Her eyes flick up to his and there’s still a mild confusion that’s reflected in them but the gratitude is real. “I know I’m good at what I do. The best, in fact. But a lot of people don’t care about that. They care about whether I slept my way to the top and which board member I did it with and why I can’t seem to shut up or keep my foot out of my mouth when I’m nervous and it all just... kinda sucks sometimes.”

 

The same urge to punch someone flares up in him again but this time Felicity catches on and she places her hand around his clenched fist tentatively. Her touch is both soothing and foreign at the same time, and he unfurls his fingers slowly at her coaxing.

 

“Calm down, Rambo. Who are you planning to beat up? Every misogynistic bastard in my division? ‘Cause that’ll take a while,” she murmurs over a shy smile. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, of course, but I didn't tell you all of that so you can ride in all knight in shining armour to defend my honour. I can handle myself.”

 

He can’t help but stare at how their fingers are entwined together, hers so small and tiny compared to his, but given the right equipment, would be far more deadly than his will ever be. Sure, he can punch his way out of a fight easily enough, but armed with the internet and a keyboard? He's no match for her. 

 

“Yeah, I guess you can,” he agrees quietly. He’s still focused on their hands, marvelling at how they fit together. "Your nails are pretty," he observes absentmindedly. "I like them." It doesn't register until Felicity clears her throat uncomfortably that he's voiced his thoughts out loud. All of a sudden she’s pulling her hand back and their moment’s gone. He misses her touch almost immediately.

 

“Um, so that’s... this is - the tour’s done. I'm sure you didn't come tonight just to have me talk your ear off. We should get back. To work, and by we, I mean me, because you don’t work with me. Well, you do. At Spartan. But not...” Her eyes flutter shut and she takes a huge, shuddering breath before reopening them. “Here,” she finishes awkwardly.

 

Okay. That tension between them? On full boil now. And threatening to overflow.

 

He’s been so careful around her, having to constantly remind himself that there’s little chance she harbours the same feelings for him, however murky and questionable they are at the moment. He's trying so hard to balance his need to prove to her that he’s not the irresponsible prick he was before, and keeping his attraction to her at bay so that they can get through this dumb competition without more drama than necessary. And now it looks like he’s just set their entire working relationship on fire and spooked her by being an idiot who can't control his mouth and honestly, is he spending so much time with her that he's picking up her penchant to ramble or what? 

 

Great.

 

Felicity’s doing a great impression of a deer, backed into a corner being confronted by a dangerous predator. He hates being the person who put that expression on her face. Hates that even when he's trying not to be nice, he's managed to instil some form of fear in her. The uncertainty of the entire situation and how it's all suddenly imploded clings to him like the uncomfortable sensation of sticky, salty, seaweed against his skin that he can never quite get rid of, even now, after being back from the island for so long.

  

So he does the only thing that makes sense to him at that moment.

 

“Yeah, you should get back to work. I uh, have other places I have to get to anyway. I can see myself out.”

 

Escape. Stage right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year folks! Hope you enjoyed this installment :)


	6. Chapter 6

_My name is Oliver Queen. For five years I was stranded on an island with only one goal. To survive. And now I will use the skills I honed on the island to help me and my partner bring home the gold. The competition is ours, you mark my words, Team Spartan is in it to win it._

 

“Jeez, he’s laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” Felicity grumbles as she leans in closer to the monitor watching the raw feed playing on the screen. “Cocky bastard.”

 

“He’s just enjoying himself,” the assistant producer who had been assigned to her, Caitlin responds, a little breathless, dreamy. The filming team has only been here a few hours and he’s already got them eating out of the palm of his hand. Typical. Caitlin doesn’t take her eyes off the monitor, captivated. “He's a natural. But I guess he's used to all of this, being a Queen and all.” 

 

Felicity looks up from the monitor, combs her eyes past the bank of cameras and crew members milling about before landing on the real Oliver being filmed in front of a green screen across the room.

 

He’s preening, trademark wolfish grin on his face as he continues recording the promotional bits and pieces that they need for the show. He looks good; the shirt he’s wearing is tight enough to tease the audience with what he has to offer underneath it, but not too tight that it gives away exactly how good his physique is - a conscious choice by the wardrobe department if her own attire (that they so kindly ‘suggested’ she wear) is any indication.

 

Her fingers pluck subconsciously at the tank top she has on. It’s clinging to her like a second skin and not at all like the yoga tops she’s far more used to wearing. Sport bras were one thing, especially when she’s just working out at the gym, but this? All spandex-y and sleek and shiny? On display in front of a bunch of strangers? Totally not her thing. 

 

“Have you prepared what you’re going to say when it’s your turn?”

 

Felicity drags her eyes away from Oliver and frowns at Caitlin. Prepare? Was she meant to have prepared a speech or something? Because she definitely did not do that, and Oliver hadn’t said anything about making preparations, though that doesn’t mean anything since they haven’t been around one another since that weird night at Queen Consolidated.

 

“Um, no, but how bad can it be? Isn’t it just like a get to know me type of thing?”

 

“Yeah, a few sentences about why you’re in the competition. Exactly what Oliver’s doing. Be yourself.”

 

“I... yeah, I can do that,” she tries to sound convincing, but Felicity’s suddenly overcome with flashes of her ‘being herself’, babbling and going off on tangents and God forbid, boring everyone, and her skin prickles. Her heart rate ratchets up a notch and her fingers curl into fists by her side as she wills herself to not freak out.

 

“You’ll be okay, I’m sure,” Caitlin tells her with a reassuring smile as if she can sense Felicity’s building unease. Caitlin tilts her head, listening to whatever is being said through her headset and then gently pushes Felicity forward. “They’re ready for you now. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”  

 

As it turns out, Felicity isn’t fine.

 

By the time they seat her on the small, spinning stool on the elevated platform in front of the main camera, her skin feels clammy and her entire body is jittery with nerves. The green screen behind her is jarring and the lights are too bright and it’s all so surreal that she feels like she’s floating in some sort of weird drug induced fever-dream.

 

Caitlin, helpful soul that she is, gets on the platform and runs through the basics with her. Red light on the camera means they’re recording. Don’t mumble. Don’t swear. Look straight at the camera. She takes it all in wordlessly but none of it makes her feel any less uncomfortable.

 

Before she knows it, Caitlin disappears and she finds herself alone once more on the platform.

 

Then a series of beeps echo around her and a disembodied voice starts counting down from five, which Felicity realises is her cue to start getting speech together. When the voice yells out a loud ‘One!’, the cameraman gives her two thumbs up and indicates for her to begin.

 

But she freezes.

 

Her mind goes hopelessly blank and she finds it ironic that for someone who usually needs to be told to _stop_ talking, she can’t find any of the words she desperately needs. The red light on the camera taunts her and the silence around her is so unsettling. God, why can’t she just speak?

 

Say something. Anything. A name, anyone’s name!

 

She’s sure she looks completely stupid and Oliver’s probably laughing at her watching the playback on the monitors.

 

“Ms. Smoak, you can begin now,” the cameraman prompts her again, this time with a little hint of impatience in his voice. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

 

“Right, yeah.” She clears her throat and blinks at the camera. She can do this. This is fine. Everyone is in their underwear. Or naked. But not Oliver, for the love of God, don’t think about Oliver naked. She breathes out slowly.  

 

“Felicity Smoak. Um. That is my name. I’m here with Oliver to... win this competition. Because we’re great together. Oh, not that we’re _together_ , together, I mean that um.”

 

She stops when she spots the cameraman frowning at her. Frack. Frack. Frack. This is going so, so horribly.

 

“I - we - we train together a lot. Almost every day. So we know how to work... together. And sometimes we -”

 

A hand clamps down over her shoulder, nearly making her keel forward mid-sentence and she swivels around in her chair indignantly only to come face to face with Oliver’s broad chest.

 

“Oliver?!”

 

He doesn’t look at her, but straight at the camera man, holding up a finger. “Can you give us a second? Just one second?”

 

The man probably says yes but she doesn’t know for sure, because she’s still facing Oliver's very solid chest. How hard are his pecs, really? And his shirt is seriously at least two sizes too small for him, not that it's a bad thing. Not at all. He crouches down and her delicious view is replaced by his face.

 

“You have to relax, Felicity.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She doesn’t even mean to sound that irritated, but it appears it‘s now her default mode whenever she’s around Oliver. And yeah, okay, maybe she’s also miffed that all of this came so easily to him and she’s basically floundering like a lost cause. She’s allowed to be grumpy about it. She hates not being the best.

 

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do.” Oliver grits his teeth in exasperation. “I’m trying to help.” His eyes flutter shut for a second, and when he reopens them, his hand comes up to rest on her knee. Felicity’s gaze drops down to it, an eyebrow arched, but Oliver pays it no mind.

 

“You said you babble when you’re nervous.”

 

Right. She told him that at Queen Consolidated when he brought her dinner. When they had that kinda nice moment that she half-enjoyed and was also half-freaked out about. She hadn’t realised he’d been paying that much attention to what she'd been saying.

 

“Yeah,” she admits with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m nervous. I’m not used to all this. As you can probably tell.”

 

“Would it help if it was me?”

 

“What?”

 

“If I stood by the camera, instead of that guy over there. If you just, talk to me, instead of the camera. Would that help? I know you tend to want to punch me all the time, but you’re not _nervous_ around me, are you?”

 

Oh, the things you don’t know, Oliver Queen.

 

But he’s not entirely wrong. With him, It’s more of a ‘don’t tell him you’re kind of obsessed with his ridiculously defined abs’ instead of this ‘you’re going to puke and embarrass yourself in front of strangers’ type of nervous so it's different. Right? Right. 

 

“No,” she sighs. “Not nervous around you.”

 

“Good. So I’m going to go over there, by the camera, and you just look at me. Tell them you’re the brains and I’m the brawn in this team, that you nearly killed me during our first training session, or that you’re doing this for Diggle - whatever you want. They’ll love anything you say, I promise.”

 

No they won’t, she wants to tell him, just to be difficult. But she refrains since Oliver seems to be sincere about wanting to help, and also because she can see the crew getting restless about the delay. She sighs and nods.

 

“Okay. Go stand over there and I’ll... just talk to you.”

 

Oliver grins, squeezes her knee once and jumps up. “Perfect. You can do this.”

 

He’s running off to the cameraman before she can say anything else, but when he shoots her a smile and a small fist pump, the tightness around her chest eases and she feels her body relax. It’s just Oliver. Annoying and frustrating, but also sometimes, like now, a really sweet guy.

 

The red light on the camera turns back on and swallows the lump in her throat.

 

“My name is Felicity Smoak,” she starts, mirroring Oliver’s introduction for sheer measure. He winks at her from across the platform and it infuses her with confidence.  

 

Yeah, she so can do this. 

* * *

 

 

Despite her less than stellar start, the rest of the shoot goes by smoothly. The producers assure her that they have enough footage to edit in post and before long they start packing up all their equipment and give her the green light to leave herself.

 

Much to her surprise, Oliver’s hovering by the exit when she emerges after changing out of the tank top, also having switched back to his normal, far better fitting, non-TV show related attire. What a shame.

 

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Felicity says as she makes her way to him. “I’m parked right outside. Totally safe, I promise.”

 

“Doesn’t hurt to be sure anyway.” He smiles at her, holding a hand out like he wants to take her bag from her. Off her look, he rolls his eyes and huffs. “Oh, come on. Let me be chivalrous for once. It won’t kill you, you know.”

 

She snorts, but hands over her duffle bag anyway. It’s the least she can do since he’s basically saved her from making a complete fool of herself today. “Fine, but this is the only time.”

 

Together, they walk in relative silence to her car, parked just like she said it was, right outside the warehouse. When she gets to the driver’s side door, expecting Oliver to give her bag back and bid her goodbye, he surprises her by pulling his hand behind his back, essentially hiding her bag from her.

 

“Oliver. Bag, please.”

 

“Before you go...”

 

She crosses her arms over her chest. “What now?”

 

"I want to apologise.”

 

Felicity purses her lips, trying to remember if he’s done anything recently that warrants an apology but nothing comes to mind. She’s skipped a few training sessions with him over the week - needing to put in extra hours in mind of the time she’ll need to take off for the show so it’s not like they’ve had enough time together for him to have done something to apologise for.

 

“Apologise?” she questions.

 

“For, um. When you took me down to the research lab.”

 

When he told her she was amazing, and then they had that supercharged, crazy, spine tingling _moment_ , all touchy-feely, fingers twined like they were destined to fit perfectly together, which inevitably resulted with her internally freaking out, which _then_ led to Oliver taking off like he found out she was diseased or something. That’s what he’s apologising for?

 

Well, fine.  

 

Hoping he doesn’t pay too much attention to the way she’s determinedly not meeting his gaze, she waves her hand at him. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Yeah, that’s a lie. Big, fat lie. But he doesn't need to know that. Doesn’t need to know that she went back up to her office after he left, mind scattered, emotions undecipherable, frustrated by the way she never knows where they stand with one another.

 

“Okay, but I still want to apologise,” Oliver insists. “I shouldn’t have just left like that, and now - I just... things are awkward. More than usual, don’t you think?”

 

Of course things are awkward. On top of cancelling on their training sessions, over the week she’s perfected the art of timing the start and end of her yoga classes so that they always just miss each other in between classes. They’ve probably exchanged a grand total of ten words with each other since Friday.

 

Until today.

 

Today, when he’d swooped in like a magical PR angel and soothed her frayed nerves, his comforting presence reminding her of a safe harbour on a stormy night, as ridiculous as it that sounds.

 

“Awkward? No, I haven’t noticed,” she mumbles, flattening her back against the driver’s side door, creating some space between them. Maybe if she pretends like nothing’s wrong he’ll just go and leave her alone, and she can deal with her stupid see-sawing Oliver related feelings another time.

 

Like, preferably never.

 

“Nothing awkward between us, ever. At all," she repeats. 

 

“Right, sure.” Oliver chuckles in disbelief. He swings her bag out from behind him, transfers it to one hand and then drags his free one over his jaw. “Felicity, please.”

 

His fingers are curled tight around the straps of her bag like he wants to hold it hostage until she agrees to hear him out, but she knows if she tells him to go away, he’ll do so without complaint.

 

The sun is setting behind them, the shoot having taken most of the day. She’s tired, both physically and mentally and from the way Oliver’s holding himself, he’s faring no better than she is. She takes in the way his shoulders are slumped forward, the slight tilt of his chin downwards as he gazes steadily at her, awaiting her next move.

 

She decides to take pity on him. “Okay, apology accepted. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Oliver. We’re fine.”

 

He lets out a long sigh of relief and relinquishes his hold on her bag. “Thank you. Can I also say something else? To explain?”

 

Felicity wonders idly if she’s stepped into a parallel universe because one, since when has Oliver ever been this verbose, and two, he’s even asking permission to speak? Wow.

 

He shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a small step backwards waiting for her answer. She has to admit that he’s piqued her curiosity now, what with his whole shy and contemplative _thing_. Eventually, he takes her silence as his cue to keep going.  

 

“Thea, my sister, tells me that I have the emotional range of a rock.” A puff of self-deprecating laughter leaves his lips. “She’s not wrong, I suppose, and it’s something I’m trying to work on. Which is why I want to... um, try to explain myself. To you.”

 

He sucks in a breath, and he’s mouthing words to himself like he’s rehearsed whatever he’s going to say, fingers fidgeting like he’s nervous - which is really off-putting because Oliver, nervous? Hah! - but Felicity holds her tongue and nods, allowing him to keep going.

 

“You’re one of the very few people in Starling who didn’t know me before the island. I guess you knew _of_ me, from what you saw or heard on the news, which... is unflattering, but there were no _expectations_ when we met, you know? I’m not the same person I was when I left on that boat. Things happened in those five years that changed me and you - you are one of the few people who can potentially see that without the shadow of my past lingering over the person I am now.”

 

“I think maybe that’s why I... I tried, _am trying_ , so hard with you. And maybe that’s come off as too intense, and definitely very hot and cold, but the truth is, sometimes I’m not even sure what I’m doing anymore. All I know is that I wanted you to see me as who I am _now_ , and in the process of doing that, something went wrong and I’ve made things awkward and strained and I... don’t want that. I’m so sorry. I’m still... adjusting to all of this, as hard to believe as it is.”

 

He doesn’t need to elaborate. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but now that she thinks about it, he’d been isolated for five years on some island in the middle of nowhere, unable to depend on anyone but himself to survive. Then he’s rescued and thrust into a world that’s moved on without him, a world that now treats him like a minor celebrity because he returned from the dead, without really giving him the space to come to terms with his re-entry into society.

 

 _Of course_ he’s still adjusting.

 

Before tonight, she’d chalked his frustrating mood swings up to him being a jerk and an ass, but now she feels like an idiot, never having considered that he could still be recovering from the five years of hell he’s undoubtedly been through. Still resettling into living a normal life.

 

Wow, everything about him has suddenly become unbelievably clear to her.

 

“Oliver.” She finally finds her voice, swallowing the white-hot guilt crawling up her throat. She called him a _man-slut_ when they first met, for God’s sake! He’s wrong about her - she’s no different to the other people who’d written him off as the same lost cause that had disappeared five years ago. “Oliver, I’m so sorry, I -”

 

“No, please, you don’t have to apologise for anything,” he implores. “We’re going to have to go through this circus of a TV show together. That’s another four more weeks of... craziness. So, in an attempt to prove my sister wrong, and to prove that I am capable of being more than an unemotional rock -”

 

“Having an emotional range of a rock.” Felicity corrects him, but snaps her mouth shut at Oliver’s pointed glare.

 

“I was wondering if we can maybe, stop with the uh... awkwardness and the arguing all the time and maybe try being friends? I could use a friend, I think.”

 

Whoa.

 

She’s glad she has her car at her back, because she’s sure she would have stumbled over her own feet otherwise. Because firstly, this is probably the most number of sentences Oliver’s managed to string together in a row in all the time they’ve known each other, and secondly, friends?

 

Oliver Queen wants to be friends with her. Not... reluctant workout partners, not colleagues at the gym. He wants to be friends.

 

“Okay,” she says. She doesn't need to think about it any further, and she definitely doesn’t think about how complicated it might get if he ever finds out his new friend might, theoretically, possibly, have more-than-friendly feelings for him.

 

“Friends. I can do friends.” The smile that spreads across her face is a genuine one despite the wariness in her heart. It makes Oliver’s eyes shine bright, erasing the tentative uncertainty lingering in them, and when he smiles back at her, she notices that he has a slight dimple in his cheek that makes her heart flutter.

 

Oh boy.  

 

This is going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, but travelling is not conducive for fic updating, as I've learned. So. Two days late, but better than never right? Kudos and comments very much appreciated, love you lots - next time you see me I'll be back in Australia :) 
> 
> Twitter: @estheryam


	7. Chapter 7

“The preliminaries take place on Saturday. Teams from twenty gyms across the West coast will race through a five mile course, interspersed with various obstacles designed to test their fitness levels. The first ten teams to cross the finish line will make it through to the next round.”

 

Roy looks up from his phone when he’s done reading the email and grins. “Piece of cake, right? You guys are top ten for sure.”

 

Oliver responds the same time she does.

 

“Yes, we’ll be fine.”

 

“We can’t be over confident about these things, Roy.”

 

Felicity smacks the back of her hand against Oliver’s chest, rolling her eyes when he fake-whimpers in pain. She shoots him a look. “We don’t know who the other teams are yet. How do you know we’ll be fine?”

 

“I believe in us,” he answers without hesitation, and in that low rumble that makes her shiver in the most delicious way possible.

 

_I believe in us._

 

She forces herself not to read too much into what he’s saying. He’s talking about the competition us, not _us,_ us. Because there is no ‘them’ outside the context of the show.

 

Is there?

 

Sometimes she thinks this whole ‘being friends’ endeavour of theirs has been one giant mistake because if she thought it was hard keeping her attraction to him in check before, _boy_ is it worse now.  

 

It was one thing for her to lust after his abs and drool over his rippling bicep muscles from afar, when she was convinced that Oliver only saw her as the unfortunate partner in this scheme that their colleagues have roped them into. It’s a whole different ball game now that Oliver’s making a conscious effort to be friends.

 

She doesn’t know how (but suspects Sara’s responsible) but Oliver finds out what her coffee order is and brings her one whenever they meet up. He makes sure all his snacks and protein bars are nut free, he walks her to her car when they’re done and yeah okay, individually, they’re all _normal_ friend things, but all together?

 

Wrapped up in that body of his?

 

Oh boy.

 

Felicity’s treading in dangerous waters, toeing the line between staying afloat, keeping to their status quo and drowning in a whole slew of feelings that he’s stirring within her, especially when he says ridiculously sweet things like _‘I believe in us._ ’

 

She shifts away from him. Not that it helps when they’re all huddled closely together in the locker room at Spartan, heads bowed over Roy’s phone to read the email that was sent to the gym about their first challenge.

 

Oliver as usual, appears to be oblivious to how he’s affecting her and he keeps on talking, growling really, because his voice is hoarse and they both need to re-hydrate from their workout and it’s too goddamned sexy but she can’t tell him to stop talking, can she?

 

“The course isn’t far from my place,” he’s saying, jabbing a finger at the screen. “We can meet at the mansion,” Oliver throws the word mansion around like it’s the most _normal_ thing in the world and it strikes her that to him, it probably is. “And drive over together? I think we’re meant to be there a few hours before it starts to get uh, prepped.”

 

She goes still. Wonderful. He’s suggesting they go on a road trip for an indeterminate amount of time, while he’s on his ‘let’s be friends’ kick, being all _friendly_ with her - okay, that sounded way dirtier than it should - confined within the small space of one of his very fancy, fast cars?

 

That’s a _great_ idea. What a perfect way to keep her stupid unrequited _whatever_ that she’s feeling in check.

 

Not.

 

She should tell him no. She should just drive there herself or hitch a ride with Sara, or Roy or Dig, who undoubtedly will want to come along to support them. Anything to minimise the amount of contact she has with Oliver, at least until she can sort out her feelings.

 

So, of course, naturally, what comes out of her traitorous mouth is “Yeah, awesome, sounds great!”

* * *

 

 

The Queen mansion really is a _mansion_. Not that she thought Oliver had been lying when he mentioned it, but maybe when he said ‘mansion’ he meant, ‘slightly bigger than average house with a few bedrooms and a very large pool’. But no.

 

It’s a mansion. In every sense of the word.

 

Huge, looming, intimidating, and possibly harbouring scary monsters in the dungeon that it definitely has because all giant, scary mansions have secret underground dungeons. For sure.  

 

God, his family’s like, _rich_ rich. Sure, she’d known about the Queens even before moving to Starling, but it’s always been more of a vague ‘okay, the guy is loaded’ type of thing. Now that she’s standing in front of his place, it really sinks in just _how_ loaded he is.

 

Swallowing, Felicity lifts her fist to knock on the solid wooden front door, but then spies a doorbell by the side and presses that instead. She hears the loud chime echoing inside and cringes, hoping she hasn’t accidentally woken up the entire household.   

 

A household that consists of her boss, Walter Steele, his wife, the Queen matriarch, and the Queen children. She should have thought this through a lot better.

 

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she turns back to glance at her little Mini Cooper that looks out of place parked in the Queen’s impeccably well tended driveway. Maybe she should wait in her car. Then they don’t have to do the awkward ‘do you want to come in?’, ‘no, it’s fine’ dance when all she wants to do is get on the road as soon as possible.

 

She’s still considering it when the door swings open abruptly, causing Felicity to stumble backwards, startled.

 

To her surprise, it isn’t Oliver standing at the door. Instead, a gorgeous brunette with shoulder length hair, dressed in dark red silk pyjamas stares unblinking at her, suspicious and calculating. If looks could kill, Felicity would probably be a pile of shredded meat on the ground the way the woman is glaring at her.  

 

“Why are you ringing the doorbell so early in the morning?” Gorgeous, but deadly asks as she folds her arms over her chest. “It’s a _Saturday_ and why are you dressed like that?”

 

“Um.” Felicity tilts her head down. What’s wrong with what she’s wearing? The olive green Spartan hoodie she has on isn’t anything too out of the ordinary, and she’s paired them with black compression tights - neither of which warrant the look of disdain on the other woman’s face, and frankly, it’s a little offensive. She levels her own steady stare at the other woman. “Because I want to be comfortable.”

 

“Right, okay. whatever. Oliver hasn’t done this in a while, so maybe I’m out of touch with the type of women he’s into these days, but if he told you it was a one time thing, I don’t think you’re gonna change his mind by showing up unannounced, in _that_.” The woman drags her gaze down, then back up Felicity's body, her implication clear.

 

Felicity’s mouth drops in horror. “ _Wait_ , you think I’m one of Oliver’s one night stands? Oh, God! _No!_ Not that it’s unappealing, because well, Oliver’s _Oliver_. You know? All six foot whatever, and just really solid, and muscley, and word on the street is that he really knows how to... uh.” Every word out of her mouth only manages to make the other woman frown harder so Felicity takes a second to calm down.

 

“What I mean to say, is that I’m Felicity, we work together at the gym and we’re going to the competition together today.”

 

“Oh!” Like magic, the judgemental scowl on the woman’s face morphs into a wide grin. “You’re yoga Felicity!”

 

“Yes, that’s me,” Felicity says slowly. Yoga Felicity? Seriously? She’s going to have words with Oliver about this. She scrunches up her nose in distaste. “I think I prefer M.I.T graduate, V.P. of Applied Sciences Felicity over yoga Felicity though. Since that’s my actual job. Yoga’s just... a hobby.”

 

Thea’s staring at her like she’s grown two heads, par on course for someone’s who’s just been introduced to her babbling so she doesn’t take offense. Felicity shakes her head and clears her throat. “But that’s besides the point. Which, I do, actually. Have a point. To this visit. Oliver and I are supposed to go over to the course like, now. If you could let him know I’m here and get him to hurry up that would be so great.”

 

Thea purses her lips, eyes narrowing as if she’s deep in thought. “My brother talks about you like you’re some this workout goddess or something so I didn’t... I didn’t know what to expect. You’re smaller than I thought you’d be. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you. I’m Thea, by the way!”

 

Thea Queen. His sister. Duh. She should have figured that out way sooner. Some genius she is.  

 

Thea leans forward, wraps her well-manicured fingers around Felicity’s wrists and pulls her past the threshold, yelling for Oliver at the top of her lungs.

 

“I don’t need to come inside,” Felicity protests, but she’s no match for Thea’s determined march into the house so she just lets the the younger girl drag her inside. “We really do have to go soon.”

 

“Well, lucky for us, Oliver’s always late so we have time.”

 

Time? Time for what? And lucky? No. _Not_ lucky. The brief they received had been explicit about being on time for prep and makeup, and when she planned this trip out in her head, she hadn’t factored in the extended amount of time she’d have to spend at his place so they’re going to be late for sure, and that doesn’t sit well with her.

 

“So, you’re the girl Oliver’s been spending all his free time with,” Thea says with a pointed gleam in her eye when they come to a stop in the middle of an immaculately decorated, very grand, foyer. Thea leans back against the wood panelled wall, head cocked to the side. “Not what I expected. Cool.”

 

Felicity pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “Thank you?”

 

“It’s a compliment. It’s a lot better than when he was moping around here like a ghost with nothing to do. At least now he’s... whatever-ing with you. Keeps him busy.”

 

“We’re training together,” Felicity supplies. She might as well dispel whatever misguided notions Thea might have about them while she’s at it so she continues hastily, “We’re not... anything else. No ‘whatever-ing’ of any kind at all. Definitely not together. Or seeing each other. Although, we do see each other a lot, just as friends, at the gym mostly. Sometimes at my work, but not _seeing_ , seeing -”

 

“Felicity?”

 

Her head whips around at the sound of Oliver’s voice, ever so grateful for the interruption. He walks into the room, frowning, head slightly tilted at the sight of her there. Behind her, Thea makes a strange, strangled noise, but Felicity ignores it in favour of waving at Oliver; a quick wiggle of her fingers, grinning at him.

 

“Oliver, hey! We match! Team Spartan, yay!” She pumps her fist in the air once, eliciting a chuckle from Thea and, miraculously, manages to pull a smile from Oliver as well.  

 

He’s also wearing the olive green Spartan hoodie, though his fits him a lot better, stretched tight across his chest instead of drowning his body in excess material like hers does.

 

“Wasn’t that the plan?” Oliver asks, quirking an eyebrow, then self-consciously running a hand down the front of his hoodie. “You were talking about uh, _aesthetics,_ and team colours, and coordinating yesterday. I thought this is what you meant.”

 

“I didn’t think you were listening to me. I was mostly talking to myself, but this is great! At least if we lose, we’ll lose in style.” She beams at him, delighted at the notion that he hadn’t, in fact, tuned out her over-eager babbling last night after their run.  

 

“Aw, you guys are too cute!” Thea chimes in from her spot against the far wall in the room.  

 

Oliver’s easy smile switches to a scowl as he stares past Felicity at his sister, noticing her presence for the first time.

 

“I’m not cute.”

 

“Thanks!” Felicity replies the same time Oliver does, then rolls her eyes at her partner. “And there’s nothing wrong with being cute.”

 

“For you, maybe,” Oliver grunts.

 

There’s something unnerving in the way Thea’s staring at them; her eyes darting back and forth between the her and Oliver, like she’s trying to uncover some non-existent mystery, head slightly tilted to the side, examining them.  

 

After a beat, she pushes off the wall, apparently satisfied by what she thinks she’s figured out. “So can I come watch? This competition thing?”

 

Oliver levels her with an accusatory glare. “You said you weren’t interested. You said, and I quote, ' _I don’t want to watch a bunch of jocks running trying to outsweat each other, Oliver._ ”

 

“Well, I changed my mind.” Thea huffs. She turns to Felicity, eyebrows waggling. “Besides, that was when I thought Felicity was just some floozy with looking for an excuse to monopolise all of my brother’s time, and not... you know. _This_.”

 

Huh. Felicity blinks at Thea. So much to unpack in that one statement.

 

What exactly has Oliver been saying about her that would make Thea think she’s a ‘floozy’? Who even uses the word floozy anymore? And not being a floozy is... a good thing? Right? And what does does she mean by _‘this_ ’?   

 

Felicity makes a whimper-whine type of sound (that she’s not entirely proud of) in the back of her throat, suddenly desperate to ask Thea what she’s insinuating, but Thea’s already moved on to sidle up next to her brother, grinning coquettishly at him, which seems to only further infuriate him if the way he’s fidgeting is anything to go by. His fingers twist around the bottom of his hoodie and he growls under his breath.

 

“We’re about to go and you’re not dressed, so not this time, Speedy.” Oliver stalks past Thea, places a hand on Felicity’s shoulder, gently turning and ushering her out the door. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”

 

He doesn’t give her time to wish the younger Queen goodbye, which is _annoying_ , but she also definitely also does not want to be late, so she half-twists her head back and offers her an apologetic smile. “Nice to meet you, Thea!” she calls out, waving at her. “Until next time!”

 

Thea follows them to the front door, a smile on her face, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Mmhm, it was _very_ nice to meet you too, Felicity!”

* * *

 

 

They have about half an hour left of their drive and Oliver’s spiralling.

 

Not like in an out of control, weekend bender, possibly drug-induced type of spiral, because yes, he has had experience with that before, and this is absolutely nothing like that. Kind of.

 

Maybe.

 

This is more of a ‘Wow, Felicity’s enthusiasm is adorable, and she’s gorgeous despite being swamped in an oversized hoodie, and the way she’s bopping in her seat to some random song is completely endearing and keeping his eyes on the road and not on her is really hard, which is dangerous but she’s so goddamn charming he just can’t help it’ type of spiralling.

 

Which is, arguably, _worse_ than the first kind, because it’s something he has zero experience with. Sure, he’s lusted after women before, and yes, he’d been in love with Laurel all that time ago, but what he’s experiencing with Felicity is different. He finds himself constantly thinking about her, and her smile, and if she’s not smiling, how to get her to, and good God, it’s almost like he’s crushing on her like a silly pre-pubescent teenager, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

 

He’s managed to keep himself in check for most of the ride, filling the silence between them chatting about Thea and Felicity’s work at Queen Consolidated. He thinks that she might have been nervous at the start of the trip for some reason, but the conversation had flowed easily which seemed to help her relax. Then Felicity wanted music, and because he can’t say no to her pleading eyes, he let her fiddle around with the controls and here they are.

 

“I feel good about today, Oliver,” she tells him mid-bop, head swaying from side to side. “Kinda nervous, but I’m all,” she extends her arm out and does a wave-type thing, a hand almost colliding with the side of his head, but she doesn’t notice in her excitement. “Limber. You know? Loose. Oh, not loose, _easy_ loose but... you know what I mean, right?”

 

Oliver grunts in acknowledgement, hands tight around the steering wheel trying to suppress the ridiculous urge to grin stupidly at her because Oliver Queen doesn’t grin stupidly at _anything_. Even if his heart feels so full, buoyed by the infectiousness of Felicity’s exuberance - something he feels with increased frequency ever since she quite literally walked into his life.

 

And even more so since they agreed to be friends.

 

Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably how all of _this_ started in the first place. Because as it turns out, _friends_ hang out a lot, and talk, and share meals, and add that to all the time they already spend together at the gym, it’s no wonder he’s developing this rather serious, almost embarrassing crush on her.

 

Hence the spiralling, and the main reason why he keeps fighting with himself trying to figure out what to do about the near constant, precious, Felicity-related fluttering in his chest.

 

He’s damaged. Weighed down by so much emotional and psychological baggage that he’s still trying to navigate through, and it would be unfair to burden her with any of it if he were to act on this scary, clenching, all too overwhelming feeling gnawing on his insides. But being around her makes him feel alive again, makes him happy, and like anything’s possible - including moving on from his past, and sometimes he thinks he should be allowed to be _selfish_ and just -

 

“Hey, what did the steering wheel ever do to you?” Felicity smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Why’re you being all _‘grr’_ at it?”

 

He spares her a glance, making sure to keep an eye on the road. Her lips are pressed in a thin line, forehead crinkled, unsure. Maybe a little confused. Upset. Suddenly, all he wants to do is wipe that unhappy look off her face, fingers tingling with then need to stroke down the smooth skin of her cheek to draw a smile out from her.

 

“Do you not like the music?” she asks, frowning. Her fingers reach out for the dial in the centre console. “I didn’t think you minded, I’ll turn it down.”

 

“No, no.” His hand fly out to stop her. His fingers curl around hers - he ignores the jolt of electricity that travels up his arm at the contact - and pulls her hand away from the console. “Music’s fine. I like your dancing.” He smirks at the blush that creeps up her neck, pleased that he’s managed to erase the uncertainty that clouded her expression moments before.

 

“Oh. Well, okay then. Happy to entertain!” Felicity chirps, eyes bright and warm as she settles back into her seat. “You know, I thought this ride would be... different.”

 

Oliver furrows his brow. “Different?”

 

“Awkward. More of a me thing than a you thing, actually.” Felicity fidgets in her seat, feet bouncing to the rhythm of the music from his speakers. “I don’t know why, but I thought it’d be weird but it’s not. I think. I haven’t put my foot in my mouth... yet, and you haven’t gone all grumpy except y’know, with your steering wheel, so this is going way better than I expected.”  

 

Felicity’s so smart, and witty, and funny, and he does enjoy the conversations she drags him into, but sometimes, like now, she says things that throw him for a loop and he ends up utterly confused.

 

Why does she think it would be weird for him to drive them there? They’ve been alone together before, so surely that’s not a problem? Should he have asked her if she wanted to drive together, instead of assuming she would? Was that the reason for her initial nervousness at the start of the trip?

 

“You thought it would be weird to ride in my car with me?”

 

“Weird is the wrong word. We’ve never been um, enclosed in a tight space we can’t escape from before, you know? I guess I thought we’d run out of things to talk about, or that you’ll say something annoying which means we’ll start bickering and there’s nowhere to run and then _boom_ -,” she makes a ball with her fingers and flares them outwards, mimicking an explosion. “- we hate each other.”

 

“We’re friends now.” The word tastes like lie as it sits on his tongue. _Friends_. Yeah, right. His brilliant idea. He clears his throat. “I could never hate you.”

 

Felicity stills. Her feet stop bouncing and from the corner of his eye, he sees her turn to him slowly. Her voice is soft, tentative, tinged with disbelief. “Pretty sure you hated me when we first met.”  

 

His skin tingles with irritation because this isn’t the first time someone’s said that to him and when it’s Sara or Roy, he can ignore them pretty easily but with Felicity... He wants to erase the lingering doubt he can hear through her words. Wants to make sure she knows with a hundred percent surety, because she likes numbers, and statistics, and facts, that hating her was outside the realm of possibility for him.

 

“I didn’t,” he insists. “I didn't know you. I do now, and I know that I could never hate you.”

 

_Because I kinda like you. A lot._ The thought flies through his head unbidden. His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel even tighter. Calm down, Queen.

 

“Oh. Okay.” Emotion flickers over Felicity’s face and he only catches it because even concentrating on the road in front of him, he always has an eye on her. 

 

For a second, he thinks that maybe he’s overplayed his hand and revealed far too much about his burgeoning (more like full-blown, the voice in his head tells him) crush, but then he realises that the look she’s giving him isn’t one of dismay, or horror - or god forbid, rejection. Instead, her cheeks are flushed pink and a small smile ghosts over her lips.

 

“That’s good. And comforting, since we’re stuck together until this whole thing is over. Which, if I have anything to say about it, might mean it’ll be a long time.” She leans forward as far as her seat belt allows her and pokes him in his shoulder, eyeing him carefully. “I’m going to hold you to what you just said when we end up having to run like a million miles to win this.”

 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Still won’t hate you, Felicity.”

* * *

 

 

“Oh my God, Oliver, hurry the _hell_ up!”

 

“Can you -” Oliver’s hands almost slip and he has to jerk his body upwards to get a better grip on the metal rod he’s hanging off of. “- shut up for one second, I’m _trying to concentrate_!”

 

The metal rod is swinging forwards and backwards, making him queasy as he dangles from it. He has to time a jump that will get him from the end of the rod to the platform on the other side of the obstacle, but it’s proving to be more difficult than he thought it would be, especially with Felicity yelling at him asking him to hurry.

 

It’s not like he’s trying to be slow on purpose!

 

They just ran 5 miles through a forest which had done a good job of sapping him of a lot of energy from him because _cardio_. Then as their first obstacle, they had to climb up a wall so high he needed to pull Felicity up the last couple of feet because her arms were giving out on her.

 

And this was before they found out they had to zip-line back down, much to Felicity’s horror (he found out, through her repeated babbling about how she is absolutely going to _die_ that she’s deathly afraid of heights), to get to this final obstacle.

 

The run at the start had put them far ahead of most of the other contestants but by the time they arrived at the suspended swinging rod, a few of the other teams had caught up and he’s just so _tired_.

 

Well and truly exhausted, and having Felicity screaming at him, to hurry isn’t. Helping. At. All.

 

“Can you concentrate faster then?! They’re closing in on us!” Felicity whines from the ledge above him, hopping from one foot to the other, already having made it past the obstacle minutes before.

 

She’d been smart about it (of course) and instead of dangling down like the rest of the other contestants and further punishing her upper body, she’d jumped up _onto_ the rod and ran across it, her momentum making the leap up to the platform a lot easier.

 

Unfortunately for Oliver, when he attempted the same move, he overestimated the swinging and had lost his balance, making him tumble sideways, slamming his midsection right into the metal bar and then almost sliding off before his fingers manage to find a grip on the rod.

 

So here is now, holding for dear life with the possibility of a few cracked ribs, stuck in an uncomfortable position as he tries to move himself forward with just his upper body strength and somehow throw himself up onto the dumb platform that seems way too far away.

 

“It’s swinging at a constant speed, Oliver! Oh my God, how are you so good at the salmon ladder but can’t time _this_ jump correctly?” Felicity’s voice is at a crazy high pitch, a sure sign that she’s going to lose it if he doesn’t get past this dumb obstacle soon.

 

Oliver growls. She’s cute and gorgeous, but damn, she’s also the most frustrating person he’s ever met. “Firstly, I’m _injured_ ,” he yells back, not even caring that he sounds like a petulant child. “And maybe if you stopped _screaming in my face,_ Felicity -”

 

_“Ladies and gentlemen! What have we here? It seems Team Spartan is having a little lover’s spat over on the last obstacle. It looks like Starling City’s heartthrob Oliver Queen unable to get himself onto the landing platform! His teammate Felicity sailed past this obstacle minutes ago, light on her feet, running on top of the metal rod - that’s smart! And who would have thought it would be Oliver holding this team back?”_

 

The announcer’s voice booms overhead, smug and ridiculous. He lets his gaze wander around the arena, searching for the host. If he’s anywhere nearby he swears he’s going to punch him so hard -

 

“Ignore him, Oliver!” Felicity calls down to him, irritation also clear in her face. “Don’t let him get under your skin - c’mon, try again! It’s just timing and physics! If you swing _with_ the rod and count the time it-”

 

“I flunked out of physics, Felicity! And don’t tell me what to do!” he shouts back, but he does as she suggests anyway, quietly counting the time it takes for the rod to move back and forth. But he can’t concentrate, not when the crowd’s cheering gets louder and _especially_ not when the host starts rattling off bits and pieces of trivia about Felicity.

 

_“Felicity Smoak is not just a hottie with a body, she’s also a three time mathletics state champion, so she’s got a brain to go with her entire package and I think I speak for everyone when I say it would be a shame to see Felicity’s run cut short because Oliver can’t make it through the preliminaries -”_

 

“Oliver! Hey, Oliver!”

 

Felicity’s voice cuts through the rest of the din around him and he shifts his gaze to her, leaning over the platform, nodding at him fiercely.

 

“Yeah, look at me, ignore the rest of them. Let me do the math for you.”

 

He narrows his eyes. First physics, now math? Is she serious? He shoots a dirty scowl. “Felicity I really don’t think -”

 

“Oliver, hear me out for like, one second -”

 

“All I hear is you screaming at me, I literally _cannot_ hear anything else!” he snaps.

 

He _doesn’t have time for this_ \- he can hear the other teams on their own metal rods next to him encouraging each other to move so their lead has all but vanished, and his hands are so sweaty that he keeps having to readjust his grip to make sure he doesn’t slip - and Felicity’s trying to what, _algebra_ her way out of this?

 

“I am trying to help you, so can you stop being an ass and _just listen_ to me?!”

 

By now, the giant television screens they’ve set up all over the course have zeroed in on them, their argument having caught the film crew’s attention. Great. Everyone is going to watch him crash and burn in complete High Definition clarity.

 

Perfect.

 

His arms are aching, muscles pulled so tight, but it’s his pride that’s hurting the most at this point. Felicity’s pacing on the platform, but now she’s biting her lip and blinking rapidly like she’s worried about him and that’s - okay, yeah, that’s... sweet, and a lot less infuriating than when she’s all grumpy about hurrying up and all of a sudden he really, really doesn’t want to be the person who ends up letting her down.

 

Like a switch’s been flipped, determination surges through him doesn’t want to be the one who causes them to crash out in the first damned round of this thing.

 

“Okay, okay, math. What about it?”

 

“Swing with the rod, just swing as hard as you can in the same direction and when I tell you to let go and throw yourself up, you let go,” Felicity yells. “I promise you I’ll catch you!”

 

He doubts that she’s actually going to catch him, but what’s he got to lose, really? Felicity’s hovering over the edge, eyes wide with anticipation and determination and if she’s confident about whatever she’s calculating in that genius brain of hers, he’s not going to question it.

 

“Okay, fine” he grunts finally. He swings his body forward with the rod, legs kicking out from under him, picking up momentum. “Do your thing, Felicity.”

 

Felicity crouches down on the platform, turning around briefly like she’s trying to anchor herself to something, then back to him, one hand stretched out in front of her.

 

“Big swings. Like _big_ ones, Oliver, then just jump, okay?”

 

“Just _jump_ , she says, like it’s so easy,” he mutters under his breath as he propels himself forward one more time. His shoulders are on fire, sweat is dripping down his face and into his eyes, and can fingers get cramped? Because his sure feel like they are and -

 

“ _Now!”_ Felicity shrieks at him from above, startlingly loud, but he lets go, tightening his core muscles and launching himself off the rod.

 

He gets a lot of air, but it feels _off_ \- his body’s not moving the way it should and for one frightening moment, with the platform looming fast before him, he thinks he might not make it - he’s too heavy to make the distance. His heart plunges into his stomach at the thought of disappointing Felicity and in a last ditch attempt to salvage their run, he throws his arms forward, reaching desperately towards Felicity and -

 

“I got you, I got you!”

 

Her tiny fingers close around his left wrist, nails digging into his skin as his body slams, _hard_ , into the wall of the platform.

 

“Holy _sh_ -” he groans as the pain ripples out from his midsection all the way to the tips of his fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s going to bruise...”

 

He finds himself hanging, literally, from Felicity’s grasp. How she’s managing to hold on to him, he doesn't know. It’s a miracle he hasn’t dragged her off the edge with him but he sure as hell isn’t going to look a gift horse in it’s mouth.

 

“Come on, come on, Oliver, you gotta help me out here,” Felicity grunts, tugging on his wrist the same time he swings his other hand up to get a hold of the platform.

 

He gathers up all his strength and pulls himself up, triceps shaking with effort as Felicity rears backwards, using her entire body weight to leverage him off of the edge. Confidence builds in him, spurring him on with every upward movement and finally, after what feels like hours, he gets a knee up onto the platform and Felicity lets go of his hand so he can pull himself the rest of the way up.

 

“Oh my god, you’re so heavy,” she moans, falling over on her hands and knees next to him. She keeps muttering under her breath, something about ‘stupid muscles’ and ‘solid’ and ‘built like a tank’ but Oliver can’t respond, since he’s still winded and trying to catch his breath, so he kneels down and wordlessly gathers her into his arms into a sweaty, very appreciative hug, trying to convey his gratitude with his actions instead.

 

He slides his palms under the thin material of her tank top, pressing into her lower back as he holds her to him. His arms are shaking slightly from exertion but that doesn’t seem to bother her as she welcomes the hug pliant in his arms.

 

Felicity sinks into his embrace, her hands slipping under his arms then curving up against his shoulder blades. His body is wrecked, throbbing and sore, and right now the only thing keeping him upright is his handful of sweaty Felicity which feels _great._ Almost as if she can sense his desperate need to be close to her, Felicity ducks her forehead under his chin and nuzzles her nose against his collarbone.

 

His heart skips a beat at the unexpected contact. His fingers, grazing languidly over her back, freeze up in his surprise and he digs his nails just a little bit too hard into her skin, which much to his chagrin, seems to make Felicity come back to herself because she lets out a gasp and all too quickly, the moment is over.

 

She squirms out of his grasp, pulling out of his arms and scrambling up onto her feet. She sweeps her hair back from her forehead with a panicked look on her face, teeth worrying her bottom lip, blinking wordlessly at him like she’s nervous about having crossed some invisible line between them. Before Oliver has a chance to reassure her that everything’s fine and that  they’re okay - _so_ okay, really, she backs away, eyes shifting to focus at something behind him.

 

“Oliver, Oliver,” she chants under her breath, fists clenching and unclenching by her side. “Get up. We gotta go. _Run now_!”

 

She spins around and takes off without waiting for him and not a second later, the duo from the Central City gym storms past, shooting him smug grins as they trail after Felicity.

 

Right. Race. They're still in one. 

 

Forcing his feet to move, he stands up and starts moving. It dawns upon him then, as he pumps his legs as fast as he can, racing past Barry and Cisco, with his eyes fixed on Felicity’s back as he tries to catch up to her, that chasing after Felicity is probably going to be something he does for the rest of his sorry life.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

It’s been a very long time since Thea’s taken an interest in her Oliver’s girlfriends (his missing five years notwithstanding) but Felicity Smoak’s emergence in her brother’s life has managed to rekindle the embers of curiosity that she had buried so long ago and even more so because Oliver’s been so adamant about the fact that she’s _not_ , in fact, his girlfriend.

 

But, see, Thea’s smart. Maybe not book smart - though she could be, if she applied herself, according to Walter - but she’s street smart, and when it comes to matters of the heart, she’s basically a Felicity-level genius. So after that fateful morning when Thea had found herself with front row tickets to the ‘Oliver and Felicity: In So Much Denial’ show, she decided to take it upon herself to prove to her oblivious brother, and his equally oblivious _‘just-a-friend’_ how perfect they are for each other.

 

Starting with checking out what she assumes is where they spend all their free time together.

 

AKA, the gross, probably very musty smelling gym that they work at.

 

Okay, to be fair, it’s not as gross as she thought it would be. In fact, she muses as she walks through the sliding doors that lead to the reception area, the atmosphere is less ‘musty gym’ and more ‘welcome to the day spa!’ and _that_ is something she can absolutely get behind. Awesome.

 

A young man is at reception, probably only a few years older than she is, looking at something on the computer, blatantly ignoring her as she leans over the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth surface.

 

“Hello, excuse me?”

 

The guy jumps, his chair rolling back as he stares at her sheepishly. He’s cute, dark haired and clean shaven, accentuating his very sharp, highly defined jawline.

 

Hm. Maybe she should take out a membership for herself too?

 

“Welcome to Spartan. How can I help you?” the guy asks, eyeing her thoughtfully.

 

“Are Oliver and Felicity working today?”

 

Almost immediately, the expression on the man’s face falls and he sighs. “Not another one... I swear to God...” He rolls his eyes. “I’m really sorry but Oliver doesn’t have the capacity to take on more clients at this time, and Felicity doesn’t take clients, period,” he tells her, frowning, as if he’s had to recite the line a million times already.

 

He probably has. Oliver and Felicity finished in the top five on Saturday despite their mishap on the last obstacle and it makes sense that it would have generated a bit of a buzz for their gym. It’s the kind of buzz and interest that this obnoxious guy should be grateful for, instead of glaring at her like she’s some opportunistic bimbo.

 

Lucky for him, she’s not in an argumentative mood and she decides to go for the truth. A little honesty never hurt anyone, after all.

 

“Well, that’s good to know, but I don’t need them to train me. I’m Thea. Oliver’s sister. And usually I don’t care what my brother does in his spare time, but that was before I realised that he’s partnered up with like, one of the smartest, adorable women on the planet, and that he’s an idiot who can’t see what’s right in front of him.” She lifts an eyebrow, hoping the man gets what she’s trying to say.

 

“So as a good little sister, it’s my responsibility to help him out a little. Give him a nudge in the right direction, you know? And to do that, I need to gather evidence. And where else would I do that if not in their... uh, natural habitat? So to speak?”

 

Thea finishes on a breath and clasps her hands together. In the silence that follows, the man just looks at her blankly and Thea wonders if she’d been too vague and metaphorical and maybe this dude needed like, a more literal explanation because he’s just _staring_ at her like she’s an alien with two heads.

 

Then, just as Thea’s about to give up on him, he starts laughing, full and hearty, throwing his head back as he holds his a hand against his chest. Thea purses her lips, but stays put - this looks promising - until he stops laughing long enough to stand up and get out of his seat.

 

His lips curl up into a sly smile and - wow, he’s so handsome - he extends a hand out to her.

 

“Oh, this is so perfect! Hi, Thea, I’m Roy. And you have absolutely come to the right person about this because I’m the guy who signed those two clueless idiots up for the competition in the first place.” He winks at her. “We are so going to make a great team.”

 

Thea takes his hand and shakes it once, strong and firm, as she too breaks out into a grin of her own. He’s right. This is going to be _so great_.

* * *

 

 

“Don’t be a baby, it’s just a bruise.”

 

“I’m not being a baby, it actually hurts, Felicity. Can you - no, _don't!_ Jesus, warn a guy will you? You’re terrible at this. Maybe we should do this later. Your class is about to start.”

 

“I'd rather we deal with this now, before any of this gets infected and even more bruised. The less you whine about this, the less time I have to spend looking at your stupid abs and -”

 

“I thought my abs were pretty, not stupid?”

 

There’s a pause in the conversation and Thea wrinkles her brow, leaning forward to make sure she doesn't miss any of it. 

 

“Being pretty and stupid are not mutually exclusive. Kinda like you.”

 

“ _Hey!_ ”

 

A tinkle of laughter echoes out of the door, followed by another one in a lower, more growl-y tone that definitely belongs to her brother. Hearing him laugh is such a rare occurrence these days that it makes her smile, glad that her big brother seems to have finally found someone he can be openly happy with.

 

Even if he’s not _with_ with her. Yet.

 

“See what I mean?” Roy murmurs next to her, careful to keep his voice low so that the two on the other side of the door don’t hear him. “They flirt like crazy, all the time, and they’re always touching each other and talking about their abs or their bodies and it’s gross but also really sweet but seriously!”

 

Thea peers around the corner to take her own look inside the room, and has to keep herself from cooing at the adorableness before her. Oliver’s sitting shirtless, cross-legged on the floor, with Felicity kneeling before him, head bowed, fingers pulling a roll of tape over his midsection. There’s a slight smile on her face as she works diligently over him, grinning wider when she presses (most likely on purpose) down a little harder than necessary on his chest, eliciting another groan of contempt from her brother.

 

Surprisingly, Oliver doesn’t stop her, but just stares adoringly at the top of Felicity’s head instead, allowing the woman to keep manhandling him. They’re both so _stupid_. God.

 

“Does Felicity usually patch Ollie up every time he gets hurt?” she wonders, slinking back out of sight so the two idiots inside remain oblivious to the fact that they have an audience.

 

Roy shrugs. “I don’t think so, but they spend a lot of time together just the two of them, who knows? All I know is that Oliver walked in here this morning complaining about how sore his entire body is from the preliminary round and Felicity volunteered to look at his injuries for him.”

 

Thea hums as she digests this newfound knowledge. “And he was okay with that? Interesting.”

 

Roy nods. “Right? I remember when Oliver first started here and he accidentally tore a shoulder muscle trying to move his ladder thing and he flat out refused to let anyone look at it. Didn’t even go see a physio for it. He just sat in the corner, sulking, taping himself up.”

 

“And now he’s letting Felicity fuss over him like a little kid. _Very_ interesting.”

 

“More like frustrating, because they’re so _dumb_.”

 

Roy peeks into the room, then nudges her shoulder. “If you want a good spot for the class, you want to get in before the rest of the students arrive. Take my word for it. Class gets pretty full.”

 

Yoga had not been on the agenda when she made a quick pit stop at the gym that morning but when Roy mentioned that she was right on time for one of Felicity’s classes, Thea couldn’t very well let the opportunity to get to know her brother’s soon-to-be (she’s sure of it, one hundred percent) future girlfriend a little better pass without her doing anything about it.

 

And it just so happened - like icing on an already very delicious cake - that they found Felicity and Oliver already inside the room, their interactions well and truly primed for Thea’s scrutiny.

 

“‘Kay, I’m going in. Update you later,” Thea mutters to Roy as she shoulders her bag and walks inside, raising her voice. “Hey big bro!”

 

The two of them spring away from each other, clearly startled. Felicity, for the most part keeps her cool, betrayed only by the slightly panicked, wide-eyed look she gives Oliver as she swallows visibly. Oliver on the other hand, nearly trips over his feet as he gets up from the floor, scrambles to find his discarded shirt and pulls it over his head, hissing as he aggravates his bruises.   

 

Thea shakes her head in amusement. “Whatcha doin’?” she asks, a picture of total innocence as she walks right up to the front of the room and sets her bag next to the mat in front of Felicity. “Are you here for the class too, Ollie?”

 

“I’m not. I don’t do yoga,” Oliver grunts, folding his arms over his chest. “And neither do you, what are you doing here?”

 

“Oh, I thought I’d give it a go. I have nothing else better to do anyway,“ she answers smoothly, like attending the class was her sole reason for visiting the gym, and not because she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Roy before she went about her day. Oliver narrows his eyes at her with suspicion, to which Thea responds with an eager, “You really should join me! We’ll pop our yoga flowers together!”

 

“Language, Thea!” Oliver sputters. “And uh, _no_.”

 

“Actually, I think that’s a great idea!”

 

The two Queen siblings turn to Felicity at her cheery exclamation. Oliver snorts. “Please.” Then off the expectant look on the blonde’s face, he shakes his head for emphasis. “No way.”

 

“You said you were sore all over. This will help,” Felicity argues, beaming as she wraps her hands around Oliver’s bicep, dragging him over to stand in the spot next to Thea’s. “Keep your sister company like the good big brother we all know you are.”

 

“Yeah, Ollie. Spend some quality time with me, I feel like I haven't seen you in years,” Thea chimes in.   

 

“We had dinner last night!” Oliver protests, but Thea waves him off. Despite the unhappy glare that he’s fixing her with, she notes with interest that he’s not actually making a move to leave.

 

“Doesn’t count.” She shrugs and grins at Felicity. “I’m excited, by the way. I’ve never done yoga before.”

 

“Great! You’ll have fun, I promise!” Felicity claps her on the shoulder once, then spins around to face Oliver. Thea can’t see Felicity’s face, but her voice drops into a low murmur and her hand reaches out to tap lightly against Oliver’s forearm. Again with the touching. “Will you stay?”

 

There’s only one word that can accurately describe the expression on Oliver’s face at Felicity's gentle request: smitten.

 

Her grumpy, stoic, broody big brother is completely smitten with Felicity.

 

“He’s definitely staying,” Thea mutters under breath.

* * *

 

 

If hell is a place on Earth, Thea’s sure it’s in Felicity’s class, bent over in an intricate position she can’t remember the name of anymore, sweat dripping down her back and her front and in places she didn't think _could_ sweat, biting her lip so hard trying to keep her laughter bursting from her chest while her brother tries - operative word: tries - not to make a complete fool out of himself.

 

Her arms are shaking, not from exertion, but from her barely contained giggles as Oliver yet again, curses loudly at Felicity. Her lungs are burning from trying not to laugh, eyes watering and yeah, okay, her muscles are also hurting from the workout so yeah. Hell. On Earth.

 

Oliver groans again, his voice carrying through the otherwise silent room. “Felicity, a human’s body is not meant to bend like -”

 

Felicity marches past Thea and goes up to him, smacking him lightly on his shoulder. “Quit being disruptive Oliver, oh my God. Be quiet!”

 

“How am I supposed to be quiet when you’re making me - No! Don’t come near me - shit, that _hurts_!”

 

Nope. She can’t do it. Oliver’s voice sounds so strained and out of breath and it’s so out of the ordinary that she has to see this for herself. Thea collapses onto her mat and turns to her brother. And laughs. Hard.

 

Oliver’s glaring at a random spot in front of him from his position on the mat, expression dark and stormy, as Felicity stands behind him trying to manipulate his legs. His arms are so tense she can see veins popping from under his skin and - yeah, he’s struggling, alright.

 

She can’t control the cackling that bubbles from her lips and almost as if the rest of the class had been waiting for someone to crack first, everyone else bursts into hysterics. Thea gets her phone out and snaps a quick picture for future blackmail material (or the slideshow she’s so going to prepare for their wedding) as the rest of the class chuckles good-naturedly at her brother’s antics.

 

“Get off me!” Oliver announces suddenly, snapping so viciously it makes Thea look up from her phone. He nudges Felicity away from him and stands up, swiping his brow with his forearm. “I’m done.”  

 

If Felicity is surprised by his outburst, she doesn’t show it. She glances at the rest of the class for a second then steps in front of Oliver with her arms crossed over her chest. “We’ve got fifteen minutes left.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not staying.” Oliver picks up his mat and rolls it up. “This is a terrible class anyway.”

 

_“Excuse me?!”_

 

Thea inches backwards, her sense of self-preservation kicking in. The rest of the room falls silent.

 

“I’m not here to be your class entertainment. All this _stretching,”_ Oh, there has to be history behind the word, if the glower Felicity sends his way is any indication, “is doing nothing for me anyway. I don’t have time for this.”

 

He storms off, tossing his rolled up mat into the corner of the room before letting the door slam shut behind him.

 

Felicity stares after him, lips twisted into a firm scowl, fingers clenched at her side. Thea watches silently as the blonde blinks dumbly at the door. After a beat, she rolls her shoulders, sighs and turns back to the class.

 

“Well. Guess yoga isn’t for everyone,” she says over a forced smile. The class twitters nervously. “Let’s just... let’s call it a day, huh?”

 

The quiet murmur that spreads through the class as everyone starts packing up makes Thea feel a little guilty. She’d goaded her brother into joining them today and not only had he been a distraction for most of the half an hour he _did_ participate in the class, now their class has just been cut short too. Not to mention Oliver’s probably off in some corner licking the wounds of his damaged pride.

 

What a mess.

 

“Hey, it’s not your fault.”

 

Thea turns around to find Felicity smiling at her. “How did you...”

 

“Oliver nearly dropped a weight on my face once while we were working through some pair work and it took him days to stop looking like you’re looking right now. I didn’t get hurt, but he felt so guilty and it was sweet but ultimately not his fault. I told him that these things happen, you know? Not that it happens a lot, of course, I don’t want you to think that he’s abusive or anything. Oliver’s a good partner. One of the best, actually. He’s just...”

 

She sneaks a glance at the door.

 

Thea follows her gaze and nods in understanding. “A little rough around the edges?”

 

“Yeah. He’s not used to being bad at any form physical activity. He’ll be fine. His pride, on the other hand...” Felicity winks at her and smiles apologetically. “Sorry your first class didn’t go so well.”

 

Thea shrugs. “It went perfect, I’m going to come back, I think.”

 

Felicity’s face brightens, the corners of her eyes crinkling in delight. Like a flash of lightning on a stormy day, all of a sudden Thea gets why her brother’s so taken by her, his yoga-related tantrum notwithstanding.

 

Here’s a woman who’s just had to deal with her grumpy asshole of a brother who called her class ‘terrible’ and all but yelled at her in front of all her students, and yet didn’t hesitate to defend his less than stellar actions. Called him sweet even. Felicity has every right to be angry at him but she’s grinning and smiling and - yeah. She gets it now.

 

Thea slings her bag over her shoulder and wraps Felicity in a brief hug, which is returned easily by the older woman. “Do you know where Oliver would have gone?” Thea asks as she pulls away.  

 

Felicity snorts. “I’d be surprised if he made it ten feet past the door.”

 

Thea quirks an eyebrow at her.

 

“Uh. I’m sure he’s still outside fending off his groupies. Fans. People who wait for him to make an appearance so they can... say hi. Maybe get a date out of him. It’s actually gotten worse since the competition started.”

 

If Thea hadn’t been paying close attention, she’d have missed the way Felicity’s expression sours just a little bit as she speaks. It’s brief, and only lasts a fraction of a second before her bubbly demeanour is back but oh, there’s something to unpack there for sure.

 

“I don’t think he likes the attention much,” Thea offers as a form of reassurance. “Not since the island anyway.”

 

“Mmm,” Felicity murmurs noncommittally. “They’ll wear him down eventually. They’re persistent. And his type. He’ll probably give it a go once the competition is over and he’s not spending all of his free time with me.”

 

Thea doesn’t know how to respond to that. Not when she wants to scream out loud about how wrong she is, and that his type is actually blonde, smart, with a penchant for talking a little bit too much and is currently staring at the door with such a look of longing on her face that it physically pains her.

 

Ugh. She and Roy really have their work cut out for them.

* * *

 

 

Food.

 

She needs food.

 

Food, and then coffee, or another Five Hour Energy, and then she can get back to work. Sure, she’s been at the office for almost ten hours already, but her to-do list just keeps going and going with no end in sight and who needs sleep anyway?

 

Her stomach growls again, and Felicity sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, buddy,” she murmurs, pulling her phone out. “Lucky for you, Big Belly does late night deliveries...”

 

Thumbing through her phone - making a mental note to clear up her apps because six pages of them is way too many - she pauses when she spots an unusual notification on her Web Traffic Crawler (patent pending).

 

It’s an app she wrote to sniff out mentions of her name on the internet, something to keep track of her online presence because she’s _smart_ and she’s seen what the internet can do to people (hello, Oliver) and no way is she subjecting herself to that much scrutiny. So every time her name appears online in any capacity, her Tracker notifies her and she can decide to wipe the mention, or keep it up. Simple, really.

 

Her app has been working in overdrive since the whole Heroes or Zeroes thing, but they’re mostly just articles about the show in general and once, for a very flattering profile of her that she she didn’t bother taking down. But, tonight, the bright red ‘Attention: 100+ new mentions’ takes her by surprise and alarm bells goes off in her head.

 

Hunger forgotten, she pulls up the app, holds her breath for whatever it is she’s going to find. Paparazzi photos of her dying after her last training session? An embarrassing picture of her mid-bite of a Double Double? Had some overzealous reporter unearthed her hacktivist past and laid it bare for the world to see? She opens the app and holds her breath, bracing herself for whatever she’s about to see.

 

_Oh._

 

Huh.

 

She squints at her phone. Well. It’s not what she expected, which is good, but it isn’t... ideal either. Technically speaking. It’s not a bad picture - of _herself_ \- but Oliver might take offense, and he’s already in what she assumes in a foul mood it’s not going to be pretty.

 

“Felicity? Hey.”

 

She jolts out of her seat with a loud shriek of alarm, phone clattering loudly out of her hands and onto her desk as her chair rolls backwards.

 

“Oliver - _Jesus_ ,” she wheezes as fingers press against the bridge of her nose. He’s standing in front of her desk, like he’s just materialised out of thin air, like the mere thought of him summoned him to her office, looking down at her with an apologetic smile on his face. “Don’t you knock?” she grumbles, forcing herself to calm down.

 

“Your door was open,” Oliver says, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

He looks sincere enough so she reels in her indignation and pulls her chair back towards her desk. She notes warily that he has one hand behind his back and narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. He knows how she feels about surprises.

 

As if he can read her mind, he brings his hand forward, revealing a paper bag with the Big Belly Burger logo emblazoned on it. Felicity’s stomach gurgles in delight.

 

“I brought a peace offering,” Oliver states, placing the bag on her desk before dragging a chair from her small table at the side so he can sit opposite her at her desk. “For being a complete ass in your class this morning.”

 

“You? An ass? Don’t know, sounds highly implausible. Impossible, even,” Felicity says, her eyes still fixed on the bag of food in front of her. God, she really is hungry. She looks up to him, then back to the bag. “Belly Buster, extra pickles?” she asks, testing him.  

 

“Of course. And a chocolate milkshake.” He passes with flying colours.

 

“You’ve done well, Queen,” she says, extending her hand to pull the bag towards her, but keeping her voice as neutral as possible. She might already be past Oliver’s less than appealing attitude from this morning, but he doesn't need to know that. She’s fine having him grovel just a little while longer, especially since she has to tell him about the picture of them that’s just gone viral, which might just end up with him being a grumpy ass all over again.  

 

“Last time I tried to apologise with flowers, it didn’t go down too well. Food seemed to be the better option when it comes to you. I’m a fast learner.”

 

She laughs at the memory. “It was less about the flowers and more about the fact that you insinuated that we were sleeping together.”

 

“Oh.” A thoughtful look flits over his face. “So the flowers were... okay?”

 

“Yes.” Felicity’s eyes flutter shut as she inhales the decadent smell of her favourite burger, mouth watering in anticipation. “But burgers are _so_ much better.”

 

She cracks an eye open to glance over at Oliver. He’s sitting unusually still, shoulders hunched over, wearing a shadow of a frown on his face. A face that, for whatever reason, is scruffier than usual, now that she’s really looking and yeah. That’s - _hm_. She shifts in her seat, grateful that her desk obscures his view of how she has to cross her legs to tamp down the sudden burst of want.

 

Huh. Guess five o’clock shadow beards are her thing now.

 

“I really am sorry about this morning,” Oliver repeats. “I didn’t feel comfortable being bad at it and Thea was just... _Thea_ and it all just got a bit much and I took it out on you. Your class isn’t terrible, I am. I didn’t mean to be so disruptive.”

 

Is she melting? Because she feels like she’s melting. Oliver’s sincerity strikes right through her heart, and she can’t find it in herself to hold what transpired this morning against him anymore. It wasn’t like she was angry at him in the first place, but even the slightest lingering annoyance has now been wiped out, thanks to his heartfelt apology.

 

“It’s okay, yoga isn’t for everyone,” she shrugs. “At least you tried though!”

 

Her phone vibrates, drawing her attention away from Oliver for a second, which is when she remembers the photo her crawler had picked up on just before he showed up in her office. It must show on her face because Oliver reaches out across her desk to cover her hands with his.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyeing her vibrating phone. “Do you need to get that? I can leave if it’s... sensitive work stuff.”

 

“Uh. No, no? Maybe? But don’t leave, it’s kind of about you.”

 

Sighing, she unlocks her phone and pulls up the photo. “I have an app that notifies me every time I’m mentioned online, which is handy when I need to control my presence on the internet, especially now with the show and with what I do...” She trails off when her phone goes off again and she switches the notifications off with irritation, which only serves to heighten Oliver’s curiosity.

 

“So you’re being mentioned online right now? What does ‘kind of about me’ mean, exactly? Is it bad? I have people I can call for these kind of things, if you need help.” Oliver’s willingness to help is heartwarming, and also naive because does he think she can’t take care of these on her own? But that’s not the point right now.

 

“No, no, it’s not serious,” she assures him. “It’s kinda funny actually, and endearing, from certain points of view. Here.” She hands her phone over to him and holds her breath for his reaction.

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

“What the hell is this?!”

 

“Well, it’s -”

 

“It’s me at yoga this morning!”

 

“And me,” she adds, hoping it lessens the blow. “Or rather, my back? So it’s not even really... you. Well, my back and a tiny bit of your angry face, but it’s not _bad_.”

 

It really isn’t. It’s a picture of them, Felicity at Oliver’s back, both hands on his shoulders, his head turned around as he glares at her. It must have been taken just before he gave up, right when the class burst out laughing at him, causing him to storm off.

 

Oliver’s still staring at her phone. “Who... how did this -”

 

“Thea posted it on her Instagram account.”

 

Oliver looks up from her phone, eyes wide. His fingers are wrapped tightly around it, as if he thinks crushing her phone will make the photo disappear with it.

 

“It’s a social media app, people post pictures and -”

 

“I know what Instagram is, Felicity,” Oliver interjects with narrowed eyes. “I just... this is public now? This picture and... this caption?”

 

Ah. Right.

 

_‘Big brother dearest is so out of his element. Yoga might not be for him but his yoga instructor might be. Olicity rising! ;)’_

 

Felicity nods apologetically. “Yes. As of half an hour ago. I can take it down if you want, I can do that but I... Well, she’s your sister. Do you want to talk to her about it first?”

 

He looks down at her phone again, silent. The frown lines on his forehead have disappeared, his expression now one of deep contemplation instead.

 

“She’s such a pest,” he says, running a finger lightly over the screen of her phone. Which, ugh - finger smudges! But she lets it go, just this once, because Oliver’s being weird and eerily quiet and not at all as angry as she thought he’d be.

 

“Don’t take it down,” he finally says, sliding the phone back at her.

 

What.

 

“Don’t take it down?” she confirms.

 

“You’re right, it’s not that bad and... it’s cute?” He blinks at her and Felicity has to dig her nails into her thighs to make sure she’s not dreaming. He thinks the picture is cute? He thinks _they’re_ cute? This isn’t helping her get over the ever growing crush on him and now her skin is all warm and tingly because he’s just seen a picture of them with a very suggestive caption and he thinks it’s cute?!

 

“My face and your body language, it’s funny, right? And the caption - it’ll all make for good publicity I guess? For the show?”

 

He might as well have dumped ice water over her head. Invisible fingers clench around her heart. Oh. that hurts.

 

“Yeah,” she croaks. Then clears her throat. “Yeah. Good for the show, definitely. The producers will love it.”

 

“And it might help rehabilitate,” he makes finger quotes in the air, “my _image_ , as my mother keeps mentioning. Better to have photos of me doing yoga circling the net than photos of me stumbling in and out of nightclubs, I suppose.”

 

The sinking feeling in her gut just gets worse and worse and eventually she has to avert her eyes in case he catches the disappointment on her face.

 

“Thank you for telling me about this, I’ll get Thea to ask for permission next time but you don’t have to take it down.” He leans back and waves his hand at her. “Are you gonna eat?”

 

“Yeah, yes.” She nods, clearing all thoughts of him and her and _them_ right out of her head. “Thank you, Oliver.”

 

She unwraps her burger, huffs when Oliver predictably snags one of her fries and hopes to God that she gets her roller-coaster of emotions under control and soon. She takes a bite of her burger and makes a show of enjoying it, even as words like ‘for the show’ and ‘publicity’ and ‘rehabilitate my image’ echoes around like a dark omen in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been an awful, long week. Glad a new one is starting right now!!  
> Comments, kudos, condolences that the weekend is over, are all welcome. Love all of you lots!  
> Twitter: @griever_11


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting in AO3 is such a bitch I tell ya.

\--ARCHIVE RECORD 11569--

\--PROPERTY OF SCTVN--

\--PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL--

 

\--Transcript of Recorded Interview--

\--Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak, Spartan Gym, Starling City--

 

[Playback start]

 

[Camera pans to Team Spartan, looking relaxed on the couch, both in matching hoodies.]

 

Interviewer: How are you two feeling today? The second round kicks off in two hours, points based this time and the stakes are higher with less teams in the competition. They’ve also introduced a new element, extra points for ‘Finishing with Flair’. How are you approaching that? Are you ready?

 

F. Smoak: I feel good. Very good. Definitely ready. We don’t know what’s coming or how to finish with flair, [Felicity makes air quotes] of course, but I think we’ll manage just fine. Oliver and I have been training a lot, more than usual, in fact, since we didn’t do as well as we hoped in the first round, so we’ve increased the -

 

O. Queen: Yes. What she means is that we’re ready.

 

F. Smoak: Rude. I wasn’t finished.

 

O.Queen: We’re ready. That was the question, Felicity. They don’t need to know what our training regime is like.

 

F. Smoak: But you can’t just give them one word answers to every question, and you shouldn’t interrupt your teammate when she’s not done answering the question because it’s rude and not very nice.  
 

[Camera zooms in on Felicity, glaring at Oliver. Oliver is smirking at his teammate.]

 

Interviewer: O-kay, moving on. Has anything changed for the two of you since the first episode aired? Word on the street is that you two have become the ‘It’ couple in Starling, you even have a nickname, coined by none other than your sister, Oliver. Olicity? How has that affected your daily lives?

 

O. Queen: Oli - what?

 

F. Smoak: That... um, is that relevant? To this competition? I mean, it’s not, right?

 

O Queen: Wait, you knew about this Olicity thing?

 

F. Smoak: Duh. It was in Thea’s caption on the yoga picture. You saw it too.

 

O. Queen: I thought it was a typo.

 

Interviewer: Ah, yes! That very first Olicity picture that started it all. So adorable. It’s no wonder it went viral.

 

[Image of Thea Queen’s Instagram post appears behind them, very cute indeed. Refer to Attachment A.]

 

O. Queen: Take that down. Now. My lawyers -

 

F. Smoak: No, he’s not calling his lawyers. Oliver, sit down. Thank you. Yes, it was cute. Oliver took a yoga class with me and it didn’t go so well. That’s all. Thea took a photo.

 

Interviewer: And... Olicity?

 

O. Queen: Stop saying that, it sounds dumb.

 

F. Smoak: Considering the alternative was Feliver which sounds like a disease, I think Olicity is kind of nice.

 

O.Queen: Felicity!

 

F. Smoak: What?!

 

O. Queen: Don’t enable them! You’re okay with this? This Olicity thing?

 

F. Smoak: If I know anything about the internet, and mind you, I know a lot about it, once something like this takes off, it isn’t going to die down for a long, long time. Best to just... go with it. Ride it out until it loses steam.

 

O. Queen. Ride Olicity out.

 

F. Smoak: Well, yeah. Come on, it’s cute! Team Olicity! So much easier to say that than Oliver and Felicity - so many syllables. And cheaper to print on T-shirts.

 

O. Queen: Wait a second. _T-shirts?!_

 

Interviewer: Olicity is pretty much the perfect ship name, too, I must say.

 

F. Smoak: Oh, no, it’s not a ship name. It’s just a team name. A cute team name. Trust me, there’s no shipping here, between us. We’re friends, really good friends, just fr-

 

O. Queen: What’s a ship?

 

F. Smoak: Ugh, I told you about ships when we watched Star Wars last week.

 

O. Queen: Right. Oh, right. Okay.

 

F. Smoak: Yes, so remember how we ship Han and Lei -

 

O. Queen: Wait. Why aren’t _we_ a ship?

 

F. Smoak: [Laughs] That’s like shipping me and Barry from Team Central City.

 

[Oliver’s hands seem to be balled into fists. He has turned away from the interviewer and is facing Felicity straight on.]

 

O. Queen: Barry Allen? The nerd? You know him? How do you know him? Why should we ship you and Barry? And not me and you?

 

F. Smoak: Calm down, I’m saying we _shouldn't_ ship either pairing. Keep up. Though, now that you mention it, he is kinda cute. And after Round One last week he said that I could visit him in Star Labs and maybe that was like a dorky way of asking -

 

O .Queen: He _what?!_ When did he ask you this?

 

F. Smoak: Why does it matter, Oliver? What do you have against Barry, anyway? I thought you guys were friends.

 

Interviewer: Uh, obviously this is a contentious subject matter, but getting back to the competition...

 

O. Queen: [Visibly agitated] Okay, whatever. But if you can ship you and Barry, what’s wrong with us as a ship?

 

F. Smoak: Because shipping is for ‘relationships’, Oliver.

 

O. Queen: A friendship is a kind of relationship.

 

F. Smoak: [Both hands come up to rub over her face] Why are you - you didn’t even _like_ the whole Olicity thing in the first place! Why are you fighting me on this? [Imitating Oliver] _It sounds dumb! Don’t enable them, Felicity._

 

O. Queen: I don’t sound like that. [Undecipherable grumble] -ship.

 

F. Smoak: I’m not saying we don’t have a relationship, oh my God. I’m saying that people shouldn’t ship us because we’re not in a _romantic_ relationship. We have a _friend_ ship, and generally that’s not what shippers... ship. Not that - I don’t want to police what people think, but shipping us romantically is misleading. You and me, we’re... we’re unthinkable.

 

[Awkward pause. Interviewer is staring at Oliver and Felicity. Oliver and Felicity are staring at each other.]

 

Interviewer: Uh. [Throat clearing] Right then.

 

O. Queen: We’re unthinkable. Right. Because we’re friends. We have a friendship. I get it. Don’t ship us, everybody. Ship romantic couples. Don’t want to be misleading or anything.

 

[Another pause. Oliver gets off the couch and stalks out of frame.]

 

F. Smoak: Oliver, for God’s sake...

 

[Felicity chases after Oliver.]

 

Interviewer: Uh...

 

Cameraman (in the background): Are we done? We’re done, yeah? They’re both gone.

 

Interviewer: We can’t use this. [Speaks into his earpiece.] They both walked out - none of this footage is going to be usable. This is a mess. The producers are going to skewer them. Call the next team in.

 

[Recording ends]

 

\--End Transcript--

* * *

 

 

Diggle groans along with the rest of the crowd as he watches a blindfolded Felicity try (and fail) to clamber up the wall of bricks that’s standing between her and the finish line. Her legs keep slipping, unable to find the right foothold to stabilise herself and she slides back down the wall for what seems like the upteenth time.

 

“I need you to tell me where to put my foot, Oliver,” her voice carries through the arena as she grumbles into her mic.

 

“I’m trying to, but you’re not getting it,” is his reply, equally frustrated, because unless she makes it past the wall, he can’t either. Those are the rules. Each activity in this round had to be completed with one team member blindfolded and the other guiding them. The show called it the 'Trust Round.'

 

Team Spartan had made it through the other obstacles easily enough, Oliver doing much better job being blindfolded in the first half of the course and it’s undoubtedly due to Oliver’s natural athleticism and Felicity’s capability to dispense instruction. They swapped at the halfway point with Felicity being the one blindfolded and for some reason, Oliver seems to be struggling communicating with her - more than usual, anyway. They stumbled through trying to avoid land mines, almost screamed each other hoarse at the mirror maze and now at the final obstacle, they seem to have reached their breaking point.

 

Something’s really off between them.

 

“There’s a hole big enough for your foot right there!” Oliver tells her, jabbing his hand at the wall. Diggle rolls his eyes, wondering if Oliver realises that his actions are practically meaningless. "Literally right there!" 

 

“You can’t tell me ‘right there’ because I can’t _see_ what you’re pointing too!” Felicity half-yells, and Diggle swears it sounds like she’s almost on the verge of tears. “Seriously! What is your problem? Can you just - can you just come here and show me? You know I hate heights and this wall is feels like it goes really high up and I'm so tired of screaming at you, Oliver!”

 

“It’s not even that high, I promise!”

 

“It feels like it is, and I’m blind so  _help me_!”

 

The noise level around Diggle increases, a mix of amusement and frustration as they watch the bickering pair. Oliver and Felicity have easily become the favourites in the show, so the rumble of discontent in the crowd is understandable. It doesn't help that once again, the producers have decided to focus on them (though, once again, understandable because _drama_ , he supposes) and every word exchanged between his two friends echo with crystal clear clarity around the arena.

 

“Why isn’t he going up there?” Sara murmurs from beside him, leaning forward in her seat. “All he has to do is hold her leg in the right spot and she’ll be able to climb right up.”

 

“It’s like he’s afraid to touch her,” Roy adds thoughtfully. “Which is strange, because they love touching each other.”

 

“Something went wrong with their pre-show interview and it’s messing with their mojo.”

 

Diggle turns a questioning eye at the sound of a new voice. Thea Queen, who only recently started frequenting the gym, has become a near permanent fixture in the small group of friends but he hadn't been aware that she had joined them in the spectators' box. Now that he comes to think of it, he doesn't even know when she got there - she definitely hadn't been there when he went to get their last round of drinks from the bar. 

 

"Oh, yeah, I invited Thea to come with us if that's okay?" Roy pipes up. "Oliver forgot to put her name on his family list so I said she could watch from our box." 

 

Thea fixes him a wide, toothy grin, a picture of total innocence. Sighing because he never could resist the Queen charm, Diggle just nods. "Yeah, yeah that's fine," he mutters. Then what she said earlier catches up to him. "What did you say about their mojo?" 

 

Thea isn’t even watching the competition, instead she’s scrolling through her phone, brows furrowed searching for something. “Here. See? Iris West’s Twitter account. _‘If you want to know why Team Spartan didn’t have a pre-show interview this week, you should look up the transcript in the network archives. #Olicity #shipwars #friendship #wowza’._

 

Roy frowns at her. “What does that even mean?”

 

“It means, dummy, that something happened in the interview that they can’t air and it’s got to do with _shipping_ , which means Ollie’s probably got his panties in a twist about his feelings for Felicity and now thinks that touching her will make her shun him forever or something. Probably. I gotta get my hands on this transcript, I think.”

 

“Wait, what’s UPS gotta do with -”

 

“Oh my God, Roy, not _that_ kind of shipping!” Sara chortles, doubling over with laughter.

 

But Roy never does find out what kind of shipping Thea means because just at that moment, a deafening cheer erupts around them, and all four heads turn back to the competition.

 

“Oh, damn, we missed it. We missed how they got past the wall!” Roy laments. He narrows his eyes at her. “Thea, this is your fault.”

 

"Excuse me, you all wanted to know why Oliver and Felicity are being weird, and I was just helping."

 

Diggle leaves the two of them to argue between themselves, sharing a knowing look with Sara. He hates to admit it, but they remind him of a certain other couple who couldn't stop fighting when they first met - and look where _they_ are now. Present events excluded of course.

 

He focuses his attention back on the competition and it looks like Oliver must have gotten over whatever his issues with Felicity were earlier because they’re both now on the other side of the wall. Felicity’s ripped off her blindfold, relief clear on her face. Even with their in-game hiccups, they're still far ahead of the other contenders and the main cameras focus in on them, throwing their faces (Felicity's beaming, Oliver’s... not frowning) onto the giant overhead screens.

 

Diggle watches with muted amusement as Oliver’s face darkens even more at the extra attention while Felicity waves cheerfully to the cameras. They’re complete opposites and yet strangely enough, have entirely complementary personalities. Most of the time, anyway.

 

It’s no wonder everyone’s trying to get them together - Roy and Thea are not very subtle at all. John Diggle, however, doesn’t partake in such childish frivolities, preferring instead to let nature take it's course, even though he’s put $200 on them getting their shit together by the end of the competition, but no one except Sara has to know.

 

Felicity leans into Oliver and gets up on her tiptoes to whisper something into Oliver’s ear that the mics don’t pick up. Oliver shakes his head, which leads to Felicity pulling back and pouting, poking him in his chest repeatedly.

 

“They’re wasting time,” Sara mutters. “Honestly, what can they be possibly arguing about now?”

 

“Don’t you get it? It’s their own brand of foreplay,” Thea says. Off Sara’s reproachful look, she holds her hands up in surrender. “Calling it like I see it. Look, they’ve stopped arguing. That was quicker than I expected.”  

 

Much to Diggle’s surprise and to the utter delight of the crowd in the arena, Oliver seems to have given in to whatever Felicity’s demanded of him. He sighs audibly and crouches down into a half-squat, allowing Felicity to swing her legs up and over his shoulders from behind him. Felicity pumps her fists in the air as Oliver stands up, lifting her effortlessly.

 

Oliver has a hand curled around the front of each of her calves, keeping her steady as he marches towards the finish line with easy confidence. Felicity whoops loudly, her joy echoing through the speakers in the arena.

 

_“Oliver makes it look like Felicity weighs nothing, crossing the finish line with his partner on his shoulders. Team Spartan completes the course, Finishing with Flair this evening earning them an extra 30 points which puts them in first place, 10 points ahead of Team Central City. Barry and Cisco will not be happy with that.”_

 

“I bet Oliver’s having the time of his life, lucky guy,” Roy sniggers as he claps along with the crowd. That earns him a smack against the side of his ear from Thea. “What? You were the one who mentioned foreplay, And as if he’s not enjoying having her legs around his -”

 

“Hey, I don’t need to hear that. He’s my _brother_ ,” Thea groans.

 

“Who you’re trying to set up with Felicity,” Roy retorts, ducking as Thea flings an arm out to hit him. “You _want_ him to enjoy this.”

 

Diggle shakes his head at their antics, but says nothing. Whether or not Oliver is enjoying himself is up for debate but the grin on Felicity’s face, plastered all over the overhead screens leaves no doubt about how _she_ feels about the win.

* * *

 

 

Oliver doesn’t like Barry Allen.

 

Doesn’t like that he’s always so cheery, and smiley and definitely doesn’t like how he always has things to say to Felicity, even if its something relatively insignificant like how he thinks her hair looks nice that day.

 

Yeah, true story. 

 

The five teams who had the highest scores in the second round make it through to the final one, and are all gathered in the green room, waiting for the go ahead from the production team allowing them to leave. Oliver’s resigned himself to the corner of the room, sipping on a protein shake, glaring at everyone who attempts to strike up a conversation with him.

 

Felicity on the other hand, seems to be engrossed in a thoroughly engaging conversation with Barry, hands flying animatedly as she speaks to him. Oliver doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but the guy has an idiotic grin on his face and every time Felicity’s familiar tinkle of laughter reaches him, it feels like the light in his world is being snuffed out bit by bit.

 

Watching them interact with each other only causes his mood to sour, reminding him that while she’s off enjoying Barry’s pleasant company, she also thinks that the that the concept of being in a romantic relationship with him is so ridiculous that it’s ‘unthinkable’.

 

He knows he’s being petty about it. He also knows that she didn’t deserve the cold shoulder that he’d subjected her to as a result of his pettiness while they were on the track, but he couldn’t help it. Being around her makes him feel so good and happy, better than he’s ever felt since he returned from Lian Yu and he thought that he might have the same effect on her.

 

Maybe that’s why he let himself get carried away hoping that one day maybe they could go from friends to... whatever.

 

But no. Not if Felicity has anything to say about it, clearly.

 

_Unthinkable._

 

Even now, hours after the fact and despite their win, it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and it doesn’t help that when he keeps turning his gaze back to her, she’s either smiling or laughing easily with Barry. They’re probably talking about computers, or science - her favourite topics of conversation, topics that _he_ barely understands, and a pang of jealousy shoots through him at the thought.

 

She probably doesn’t think _she and Barry_ are unthinkable.

 

Oliver’s met Barry a few times, having trained him whenever the younger man visited Starling City for work. He’s quick on his feet and smart, working as some sort of CSI with the Central City Police Department. He’s bubbly and dorky, not damaged and emotionally stunted after five years being marooned on an island, and to top it all off, is also apparently, really funny.

 

His stomach starts churning and he convinces himself that it’s because he’s had enough protein - and _not_ because he’s all messed up about the image of Felicity laughing with Barry burned into the back of his eye lids. Scowling, he turns away from the two of them, searching for a trash can to throw the rest of his drink away.

 

“You done murdering Barry with your eyes?”

 

His ears burn with embarrassment at the teasing lilt of Felicity’s voice from behind him. He squares his shoulders and turns around to face her.

 

“I wasn’t... murdering him.” Maiming, maybe. If he had that kind of power.

 

“Uh-huh, sure.” Felicity chuckles. She’s pulled her hair out of her ponytail, letting her curly waves fall around her shoulders and he finds himself wondering how her pretty blonde strands of hair feels entwined with his fingers, or fanned out over his chest. Crap. He has to stop this.

 

“Does your ‘not murdering’ have anything to do with what I said? Before? Because I thought we sorted that out. We’re good... right?”

 

Of course she has to bring up the clusterfuck that had been their pre-show interview when all he wants to do is forget it ever happened. The interview that had begun innocently enough, but then spiralled uncontrollably into dangerous territory, nearly giving away just how _gone_ he is for his partner (but jokes on him, turns out they’re _unthinkable_ ), resulting in a desperate walk-out and a very displeased production team.

 

Felicity had come running after him, annoyed and frustrated, toeing the line between respectable inside voice and Loud Voice, as she chastised him for being childish and a grump. It took almost fifteen minutes of her reaming him out before he gave in and apologised for being an ass. Again. The interview had not been salvagable but their friendship (Ha! _Friendship_ ) was thankfully, still intact.

 

She hadn’t pressed any further, as if she knew - the way she just _does_ \- that he still needed time to make sense of his visceral reaction to what had transpired in the interview room and for that he’d been grateful. He took it out on her during the race though, and nearly slipped up on their last obstacle, being too cautious, too conscious, about further exposing his feelings but he’d come to his senses just in time for them to secure their win.

 

“We’re perfect,” he answers haltingly. It’s the truth. Their friendship is perfect.

 

Felicity bites her lip, wide eyed and unconvinced, so he cups her elbow, drags his hand up her arm and draws her into a hug. She likes hugs. He allows the tips of his fingers to comb through the ends of her hair. Indulging just for a second.

 

“Felicity, I promise, we’re okay.”

 

She doesn’t reply verbally but her lips brush over his jawline, soft and barely there, yet still managing to wrap him up her special brand of comfort. He responds by hugging her just a little tighter before she pulls away, cheeks tinged pink by the unusual display of affection.

 

“So... does this mean you’ll be fine if I invite Barry out to celebrate our win with us?”

 

He answers instinctively, growling. “Absolutely _not_.”

 

Felicity smirks, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, seeing right through him. “Mmhm. Thought so. Anyway, I came by to tell you that we’re good to go now. Which means it’s burger time!”

 

The thought of those greasy, overly indulgent burgers she loves so much is very appealing, but spending more time with her while he’s so off-centre, so... uncertain, probably isn’t a good idea. “Felicity...”

 

“You said if we won today we’d go to Big Belly to celebrate. C’mon, one burger isn’t going to magically make your precious muscles disappear. Trust me, it is not in my personal best interest for that to happen. One lousy cheat meal, for me?” She pouts, folding her arms over her chest because she’s a genius and she knows that the move works on him. It worked like a charm when she wanted him to hoist her up on his shoulders before and it’s working now. 

 

God, it works so well that it makes him desperate to sink his teeth into that bottom lip that’s sticking out and nibble on it, makes him want to run his tongue along the soft flesh and suck-

 

“You promised, Oliver.”

 

He snaps out of his daydream, ears burning again as he resigns himself to his fate. This is fine. Being friends with her is enough. Will be enough. He didn’t survive five years of hell only to be undone by something as stupid as his unrequited feelings for her. At least now he's managed to admit to himself that he _does_ have feelings for her, which Thea would be so proud of. Emotional growth and all that. 

 

All he has to do is figure out how to stop these feelings from ever making themselves known to her. 

 

“Okay, you win. But we are getting you your own serve of fries this time.” He reaches for her fingers, tangles them together and drags her out of the green room. He makes a point to smile at Barry as they leave, bringing their entwined fingers up to wave goodbye at the younger man. “Lets go, before Barry decides to come with us.”

 

And this time, Felicity is laughing with _him_ and it’s like his entire world lights up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I really do love your feedback and knowing what you think and reading what you think *might* happen so please know even if I don't respond, I'm loving you all for it. 
> 
> Things will heat up for these dummies soon (like next chapter soon) I promise. There's a spoiler for you :) 
> 
> Come say hi at my new fic Twitter account: @griever_11


	10. Chapter 10

The gym is unusually quiet tonight.

 

Felicity smiles at the few familiar faces who are leaving as she walks in, enroute to the back of the gym where she usually trains with Oliver. It’s a good thing it’s not busy, she supposes. After their recent win and the resulting media coverage, she could do with a bit of quiet.

 

Even more so after finding out that someone had leaked the transcript of their stupid pre-show interview to the press who then had a field day with it. The two of them had made a few headlines in the local newspapers, not because they won the round, but because of what they’d said in the interview.

 

_‘Trouble in High Seas? Starling City’s Fittest Couple Don’t ‘Ship Each Other!’_

 

_‘Barry Allen, Team Spartan’s Trojan Horse’_

 

Harmless gossip, most of them. Mere speculation about her relationship with Oliver, or lack thereof, as the case may be. Nonetheless, having her private life plastered all over newsstands and being scrutinised by the public like that is more than a little overwhelming. Especially since she’s just as clueless as the reporters about the state of her relationship with Oliver and she _hates_ being clueless about anything.

 

One thing’s for sure at least, and it’s that she likes Oliver. _A lot._ She’s given up on pretending that she’s just crushing on her partner, making peace with the fact that what she’s feeling is a full blown, stomach turning, want-to-know-what-you-taste-like-under-your-clothes kind of attraction to him.

 

Despite this not so eye-opening revelation, she’s managed to keep herself in check whenever they’re hanging out, careful about what she says and does around him so that he doesn’t catch on. Because no way is she risking their friendship because she can’t control her stupid, dumb, urges.

 

She cares about him too much.

 

Cares about the fact that outside of their small circle of friends at the gym, Oliver’s a pretty lonely guy. Plus, he said it himself all that time ago when he decided he wanted to be friends with her - that she’s one of the very few people in his life who knows him as he is now, and not as Ollie Queen, and she knows that’s important to him.

 

So she doesn’t want to - _can’t afford to_ \- ruin their friendship.

 

It would be so much easier if he was still Ollie from before the island; the guy she assumed he was when they first met. Then she wouldn’t be having this almost mini gargantuan freak out about her very complicated feelings for him. Unfortunately for her, Sara and Diggle had been right from the beginning and _this_ Oliver, the post-island Oliver she’s come to know over the last few weeks, is most definitely not _him._

 

Serial womanizer, overgrown frat boy Ollie Queen wouldn’t have started bringing _‘Oliver-approved’_ lunches to the office after finding out that she makes a habit of asking her assistant to get her what _he_ deems is artery-clogging food from a nearby cafe (she, on the other hand, thinks having burritos three times a week is perfectly fine, thank you very much).

 

He wouldn’t insist on walking her to her car and making sure she drives off safely after every training session. Sometimes he even drives her home when he thinks she’s too exhausted, leaving his motorbike at the gym and taking a cab back.

 

Or get her an all-day pass to an exclusive spa only the Starling City elite have access to, just because she complained, _once,_ that her muscles were feeling a little tighter than usual.

 

And yes, okay, she’ll admit that he has some anger management issues to sort through, and he’s so grumpy and gets irrationally jealous (yeah, she caught that, she’s not stupid) but for some reason it only makes him more endearing. Everything about him is just so completely _unexpected_ that it makes her want him even _more_.

 

She wants to dig into the Oliver Queen psych and find out everything there is to know about him; wants to dismantle and pull him apart like one of her beloved computers and see what makes him tick, because as much as he’s charming and thoughtful and sweet, he’s still largely a mystery to her. He’s so guarded and very rarely offers anything of himself up to her and it’s just... frustrating.

 

She’s aware that he’s physically attracted to her - that much has been clear since the first time he openly ogled her body - and to an extent, he likes her enough to want to insist on being friends, but beyond that? As far as wanting to be _more?_

 

If only he wasn’t such a goddamn closed book, maybe she’d know if there was a chance that he - 

 

“Ugh. You’re not even here, and I’m still thinking about you,” Felicity mutters, shaking her head as she stretches, preparing to warm up. Stupid man. Stupid, gorgeous _, super hot,_ man.

 

_No._

 

Stop.

 

She glares at her reflection in the mirror. Maybe working out in a space littered with Oliver’s stuff, his custom order weight plates and bars and what-nots around the room while she’s feeling like this wasn’t the best idea. She considers moving into her yoga studio to get away from the _Oliver-ness_ of it all until she sees it.  

 

His salmon ladder is nestled in the corner, huge and intimidating, and she purses her lips at the sight.

 

Should she?

 

She’s hasn’t attempted it before. Oliver’s so good at it, going up and down all fluid and sexy and shirtless (all the time!!) that she’s never bothered. Why should she, when she can sit back and enjoy the view while _he’s_ doing it, instead?

 

But Oliver isn’t here tonight. He’s off with Tommy, who had been adamant about having a guys night since apparently, she’s stolen too much of Oliver’s time away from his best friend and they needed to catch up.

 

Whatever that means.

 

She walks up to the ladder, examining it with a cautious eye. Back when she and Oliver spent all their time fighting one another, she’d snuck in here and taken the ladder apart just to spite him. It took her all of half an hour before she felt guilty about what she’d done, so she proceeded put it back together but with a few adjustments for stability and structural integrity.

 

Oliver hadn’t appreciated it at the time which resulted in yet another very loud argument, but he had come around in the end once he realised she’d actually improved his rather primitive set up. She wraps her fingers around one of the standing poles and gives it a good shake, pleased with it doesn’t wobble or show any other signs of possible danger.

 

How hard can it be, anyway?

 

“Just a chin-up,” she murmurs, smiling when she recalls what Oliver told her once, when she asked him about it. “With a flourish at the end.”

 

She pulls off her shirt, tosses it to the side and finds her position underneath the horizontal bar. Thankfully, Oliver hadn’t left it too high up, and she thinks she’ll be able to reach it with a solid jump.

 

“‘Kay, here we go.”

 

Rubbing her hands together, she eyes the bar one last time and takes a leap. Her heart soars when she gets a good grip on the bar and she grins. She doesn’t give herself any time to dwell on it, contracting her abs like she’s seen Oliver do a hundred times and then launching upwards.

 

The familiar clang of the bar echoes through around her as it moves up and hooks onto the next rung up. “Yesssss!” She whoops in triumph. She keeps her eyes focused on the next rung, musters up her strength and gives it another go.

 

She does it again.

 

And again.

 

And then her arms start to twitch, straining from the exertion. She has to readjust her grip and yeah, okay, maybe three rungs is enough for the night. Mission accomplished, in any case. And she can tell Oliver about it later tonight when he calls her to make sure she’s getting to bed on time.

 

Except.

 

Except right at that moment, Felicity makes the mistake of looking down, past her dangling feet, and onto the gym floor where she’d left her phone, and her entire body freezes.

 

Because she’s really high up. Like, _really_ high up. Of course she is. Oh God. A chill runs through her, cold tendrils of fear and dread creeping around her heart because how, _how_ had this not occurred to her?  

 

How did she forget that she had a very crippling, deathly fear of heights?

 

An undignified whimper falls from her lips as she wills herself not to look down again. She’s going to be stuck there forever. Or until her arms give out, and her grip slips and she’s going to fall and break her legs and then -

 

“Oliver...”

 

His name comes out in a whisper, and then in the next second she gets mad at herself because that was  _stupid_ and why is she calling for him like a damsel in distress when he's not even _here._

 

“You can do this,” she tries to convince herself. “It’s not that far down. Just let go, c’mon don’t be stupid,” Felicity mumbles, sparing a glance down to the floor again.

 

Her heart plummets immediately and her arms seize up.

 

“Nope! Nope! Okay, nope!”

 

She closes her eyes and counts down from ten. Her go-to method of calming herself down. Only, it doesn’t work this time and every extra second she spends suspended in mid-air only heightens her anxiety.

 

Fuck.

 

Fine. _Fine._

 

Swallowing her pride, she clears her throat and raises her voice. “Siri, call Oliver Queen.”

* * *

 

 

“Do you want me to wait?” Tommy asks, turning around from the front seat of the cab they’re sharing, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

 

Oliver unbuckles himself, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine, thanks for coming with me, Tommy. I’ve got it from here. I’ll pay you back for the cab tomorrow.”

 

He doesn’t spare his friend a backward glance as he rushes out of the cab, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste. He doesn’t even check to see if the cab’s gone before he’s digging through his pockets for the keys to the gym.

 

He’s not panicking. Oliver Queen doesn’t _panic._ He’s just concerned. That’s all.

 

Because it’s not every night that he gets a call from Felicity, sounding frantic, with an uncharacteristic waver in her voice that’s tinged with what he suspects might be fear.

 

_“Can you come to the gym right now? I need your help, please, Oliver.”_

 

He doesn’t think he will ever forget how she sounded over the phone, and for the entire five minute cab ride to the gym, his imagination runs wild with the infinite possibilities of why she would need his help at this time of the night. Has she hurt herself? What if some weights had fallen over and she’s trapped under them and -

 

Okay, so maybe he’s panicking. Just a little.

 

His heart is beating rapidly against his chest, his blood is thrumming with worry and yeah, the alcohol still coursing through his veins probably isn’t doing anything to help him keep calm. He’s filled with dread with every second that ticks by and he has to force himself to stop thinking about worst case scenarios and blood and broken bones.

 

He flings the door to the gym open, doesn’t bother locking it behind him and runs inside. “Felicity?” he calls out, shoes skidding against the floor dangerously.  “Hey, I’m here, where are you? I’m coming!”

 

Relief washes over him when he hears a faint voice answering his call. He can’t make out what’s being said but the voice is unmistakably hers.

 

He makes his way to the back of the gym where her voice is coming from. “I’m here, hang on a sec -”

 

His words stall on the tip of his tongue at the sight before him. Felicity’s hanging from the salmon ladder bar, quite high up, with her eyes clenched shut, feet dangling loosely beneath her. Her skin glistens with sweat, sports bra slightly damp. Her arms are stretched to full extension, highlighting the sleek line of her muscles from her shoulders down to her taut abs, and heat stirs in the bottom of his stomach.

 

Captivated, he sweeps his gaze down her form, all smooth skin and solid muscle - he thinks maybe she’d taste sweet too, under all that sweat. His mouth waters. She always smells so good, like cinnamon and vanilla and maybe -

 

He catches himself in time, reeling in his wandering thoughts, shoving them right down into the depths of his mind. He feels guilty for even entertaining them for a second because one, he’s sure Felicity doesn’t appreciate him mooning at her body in this time of need (thank God she seems set on not opening her eyes anytime soon) and two, they’re _unthinkable._

 

So stop _thinking_ about it, Queen.

 

His tongue feels thick in his mouth and it’s an effort, but he manages to fight through the haze of longing to form a coherent sentence. “Felicity, what are you doing all the way up there?”

 

She shifts, readjusting her grip on the bar, but her eyes stay firmly shut. When she speaks, her voice is shaky and lacking the confidence he’s so used to hearing from her. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

 

Oliver tamps down the desire to do just that. Because aside from the very obvious terror on her face, it _is_ a rather funny sight to behold. She’s just... hanging there. Swaying.

 

“I won’t laugh,” he promises, inching forward towards her. His heart rate has slowed to a more bearable speed and he can finally take a huge gulp of breath, filling his lungs with air. Felicity grunts at him, scowling, probably mistaking the sharp intake of his breath as some form of ridicule. “I’m not laughing,” he assures her. “Tell me how I can help.”

 

“I can’t... I can’t come down,” Felicity mumbles, finally opening her eyes. He notes that she looks straight at his face. Practically zeroing in on him, like she can’t bear to look anywhere else.

 

And then he remembers. “Felicity, you’re scared of heights.”

 

“Yes, I’m _aware,_ Oliver.” It’s amazing how even though she must be freaking out on the inside, she still manages to level him with such an intense, death inducing glare that does an excellent job of sobering him up a little. “Trust me, I’m well aware.”

 

“Okay, so why are you up there?” He’s really trying not to laugh like he promised, but she paints such an awkward picture, her tiny body dangling under the bar, dwarfed by the height of the ladder. “How _did_ you get up there?”

 

Another glare. This time her legs swing out like she’s trying to kick him, and he can’t contain his laughter at her feeble attempt to reach him. “I chinned-up and flourished,” she deadpans, throwing his words back at him. Then her expression shifts, and a grin spreads over her lips. “Three times! I did it three times!”  

 

The pride on her face is both a mix of adorable and gorgeous and for a second he forgets that he’s supposed to not be thinking about her this way. He wants to kiss her so badly, wants to nip her lips to erase the pout that he knows is forming because he hasn’t acknowledged her accomplishment yet.

 

_Fuck._

 

“Okay, congratulations, hot shot.”

 

He hopes the way his voice cracks doesn’t betray the inappropriate thoughts swimming around his head. “I’m guessing you didn’t realise once you got up there, you’d have to come back down?”

 

She sobers at that, her smile faltering. “Um, yeah.”

 

Oliver chuckles and shakes his head. “Okay, just drop down then,” he instructs as he moves so that he’s standing directly under the bar. “Just let go.”

 

“If I could just _let go,”_ she hisses, ‘I would have done that from the start! The problem is that I _can’t._ ”

 

Right. Crippling fear of heights. Right.

 

He looks up at her, angling his head so he meets her eyes directly. “I’ll catch you,” he says with confidence. He holds his hands out and up, palms outwards to show her he’s right there. “I promise I’ll catch you.”

 

“Nuuuuh, I don’t want to let go,” she whines. “Can’t you come up here and carry me down?”

 

Oliver presses his lips together, suppressing a smile. “That is pretty much the most inconvenient way of getting you down, Felicity.” He looks up at her, noticing that her body is so tantalisingly close to his, her feet hovering just around his shoulders.

 

Hngh. So close.

 

Warning bells are going off in his head. She’s in nothing but her standard tight leggings and a sports bra, and in his slightly inebriated state, he finds himself wondering why he ever thought it would be a good idea to be _‘just friends’_ with her. He’s done some pretty dumb things in the past but wow, making that resolution has got to be the dumbest thing he’s done.

 

Felicity’s looking at him all helpless and desperate and the fact that it was _him_ she called for help tonight and not anyone else speaks to his baser instincts, the ones that helped him survive his ordeal on Lian Yu and now all he wants to do is help her and get rid of the terror on her face, and just...

 

Oliver doesn’t give himself the chance to second guess his next move.

 

“Okay, tell you what, I’m going to hold on to you right here.” Carefully, so as to not spook her, he curves his palms over the outside of her calves, his fingers digging into the flesh just under the back of her knees so he has a solid grip around her legs. Her muscles twitch in his grasp, trembling a little at the contact, but then she stills and he hears her sigh from above.

 

“Oliver?” He swears her voice drops an octave, no longer frantic, taking on an unfamiliar, shy quality. A flash of want goes through him as he imagines how her voice might sound in his ear, saying his name like that under wholly different circumstances.

 

“I won’t let go,” he tells her, answering her silent question. His position doesn’t allow him much room to look up to reassure her, so he squeezes once, tightening his hold. His forearms press along the sides of her legs, securing her to his upper body.

 

“You know I can carry your weight, so just... release your hands and I’ll bring you down, okay?”

 

Slowly, he feels the stiffness in her body ease up and he braces himself to bear the brunt of her weight. She’s tiny and weighs nothing, but he doesn’t want to take any chances.

 

“‘Kay. Okay. I’m going to let go now. Please don’t drop me.”

 

He moves forward to stabilise her, his chest brushing up against the front of her lycra-clad thighs. Heat unfurls in him, as it often does when he’s in close proximity to her, but it’s different this time. This time, he has about three shots of tequila lowering his inhibitions and making him brave, _and_ he has an arm full of a very squirmy, sweaty Felicity.

 

Seriously.

 

There’s only so much he can handle.  

 

He screws his eyes shut and attempts to control his breathing, trying to ignore the fact that if he tilts his head just a couple of inches upwards, he’ll be in the perfect position to -

 

“Um, Oliver, I’ve let go.”

 

Her voice startles him back to reality and to his chagrin, realises that he’s spent a bit too long staring at the juncture of her thighs. Flames of embarrassment lick up his neck as he swallows hard.

 

“Right, yeah. Here we go.”

 

He loosens his grip, just a little, allowing her to slide down in his arms. Slowly. Painstakingly slowly. His nerves are fraying, setting him on the edge of _something_ , and the glide of the material of her pants, then her bare skin against his palms sends him reeling.

 

He’s in _agony._

 

Her skin feels hot to his touch, burning the tips of his fingers where they’re now resting against the sharp jut of her hip bones, grazing just above the waistband of her leggings. This isn’t the first time he’s touching her, but it’s the first time he’s touching her to the echo of words like _‘unthinkable’_ and _‘why can’t we ship us_ ’ bouncing around in the back of his mind.

 

It makes him brave, reminiscent of the charming, doesn’t take no for an answer Ollie Queen he used to be. He wants to throw caution to the wind, just for a second, if only to prove to her that they’re _not_ fucking unthinkable.

 

But. No.

 

He’s not about the ruin what they have right now because he can’t control himself around her. The thought of losing her as a friend is enough to strengthen his resolve and he schools his features so she doesn’t get wind of just how much he really wants to know what her lips will feel like against his.

 

Felicity lets out a soft sigh when her feet are planted firmly on the ground, and she so very imperceptibly leans in, her nose a mere hair’s breadth away from his centre of his collarbone.

 

“Thank you for coming, my hero,” her words come out shaky, a little breathless. Her hands rest on his shoulders, holding on a little tighter than necessary, and the bite of her nails into his flesh sends a thrill of very dangerous longing right down to his toes.

 

He thinks about Thea. And his mom. And everything that isn’t the puffs of hot air from between her lips against his collarbone where he’s left the top button of his dress shirt undone. And definitely not how those same puffs of air would feel on other parts of his body.

 

“You’re so tense. Sorry I cut your night short,” she murmurs, oblivious to Oliver’s struggle, sounding like sex and sin and everything he ever wanted. Torturing him. She continues in the same teasing, melodious tone, “Hope Tommy’s not too upset.”

His heart is threatening to explode right out of his chest and he gulps, hoping and praying that Felicity doesn’t notice how much her closeness is affecting him. There’s barely an inch between their bodies and he swears he can feel the heat emanating from her through both their layers of clothing - though he has to concede _she’s_ not wearing much of anything at the moment.

 

“He’s not,” he manages to choke out, mesmerised by a rivulet of sweat that’s travelling down her neck. He wonders how she’ll react if he just lowered his head and... licked at it. “And you know I’ll always come for you.”

 

She freezes.

 

Oh, fuck. _Fuck._

 

That... just slipped out. And he didn’t mean for it to sound so... salacious. Honest. He drags his eyes up from her tantalising neck, preparing himself for... the regret? Horror? Whatever that’s likely to be reflected on her face.

 

But what he finds when he finally meets her eyes floors him.

 

They’re standing so close that he can see how dilated her pupils are, her usual bright blue so dark and stormy. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip, blinking slowly, and when she speaks, he’s sure he’s not imagining the way her voice drops into a husky murmur that’s so very suggestive.

 

“You know, usually I’m the one with the badly timed innuendos.”

 

He watches her, unmovable, arrested by the way her chest is heaving, the way her eyes dart up and down his face, alternating between his eyes and his lips. Her hands drag upwards from his shoulders to curl around this nape, playing with the short ends of his hair.

 

The air between them is so thick, crackling with invisible energy, sizzling tension ratcheting with every second that ticks by. It’s taking everything in him not to slam her against the closest wall and have his way with her.

 

“Felicity...” he warns, because he’s not sure how long he can hold himself back. She’s shredding every bit of self-control he has just by standing there, who knows what he’ll do if she keeps doing what she’s doing, dipping her tongue in and out of her mouth as she stares at an invisible point on his jawline.

 

Like she’s itching to taste him.

 

What is she doing? What is _he_ doing? Messing around like this is only going to end in disaster, and he can wave goodbye to one of the most important friendships he’s had in a long time goodbye.

 

But good God does he want to kiss her.

 

His fingers tighten involuntarily around her waist at the thought. It makes her stumble forward, and suddenly the entire length of their bodies are pressed together and -

 

“Mmhm, yeah,” she mumbles distractedly, lips barely moving as she smirks at him. “Oliver. _Hi._ ”

 

And just like that, something snaps into place and _everything_ becomes startlingly clear to him.

 

The look she’s giving him is the same look she gets when she’s faced with a rather challenging circuit, or some piece of code she’s finding hard to make sense of and right now she’s staring at him as if _he’s_ the challenge.

 

Oliver shivers at the realisation and it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s licking her lips very suggestively. She’s not spooked, not running and most definitely not shying away from the fact that she can probably feel his very physical reaction pressed against the top of her thigh.

 

“You look nice tonight,” she tells him. She quirks an eyebrow, releasing her grip around his neck, dragging a finger along his collar and then tugging at it so his head falls forward, forehead brushing against hers. Her gaze is downright predatory. “I don’t really get see you all dressed up like this. S’nice.”

 

“Thank - Thank you,” he stutters, at a loss for words.

 

What - what is going on? His brain, what little of it that hasn’t been completely fried by what’s happening between them right now, struggles to make sense of her actions. She was the one who had insisted that they weren’t... couldn’t be anything other than friends.

 

_Right?_

 

He pulls back, only to have Felicity run her hand back up his neck, tracing the sharp angle of his jawline, curling around his ear. Her other hand slips downwards, twisting the sleeves of his shirt, skimming over his biceps.

 

Yeah, she sure as hell isn’t acting like she wants to be _just friends_ right now.

 

Baseball stats. Starving on Lian Yu. That deer’s neck he had to break before he could skin it and have it for dinner.

 

He’d like to have Felicity for dinner.

 

Nope. not working. Lust and longing burns in his blood and Felicity - she just. She just smiles at him with a teasing gleam in her eyes. She leans into him, on the tips of her toes because she’s so short, head tilted to one side, nuzzling against his cheek as her eyes flutter shut.

 

And then she inhales.

 

Her nose nudges against the side of his neck, back and forth over the vein that’s probably bulging from the effort he’s exerting to not lose it in front of her. He groans under his breath, tilting his chin up in prayer but it only serves to give her more access.

 

Which she takes full advantage of.

 

“You’ve had a bit to drink,” she says, her voice low and all growly, lips pressing lightly over his skin. His cock twitches in his pants. Yeah. This is really, really doing it for him. Doesn’t even know why he’s trying to deny it. She sniffs him again. “You smell like tequila.”   

 

“I’ve had... _a lot_ to drink,” he responds, equally gruff, sliding his hands up from the waistband of her pants, interlacing his fingers in the middle of her back, his thumbs drawing circles along her spine. She shivers in his arms.

 

Ha. Payback.

 

She inches backwards, not far enough to make him release her but just enough for him to miss the feeling of her being all pressed up against him immediately. Her playfulness disappears for a moment, replaced by concern and a shimmer of doubt. “Are you drunk? Do you - is this -”

 

“Felicity,” he growls, pulling her back in. He brings a hand up to her face, his thumb sweeping over her bottom lip. She hums against his finger and she swallows nervously, waiting for him. Like she realises maybe she’s taken this strange game they’re playing too far and whatever happens next is up to him.

 

Your move, Oliver, she seems to be pleading silently. _Please make a move._

 

So he makes it.

 

“I’m not that drunk,” he states with fierce conviction. He wants to leave no doubt in her head that this is him, all _him_ , and that it isn’t some alcohol induced mistake he’s going to regret later. He slides his fingers through her hair, pulling her elastic off so her hair falls in waves around her pretty face.  

 

“I’m not drunk,” he repeats, brushing the stray tendrils of soft gold away from her face. “And I know exactly what I’m doing.”

* * *

 

 

Oliver is an ass man.

 

Felicity files this little nugget of information for the future. She’d assumed he was more of a legs kind of guy, from what she knows of his past dalliances, but the proof is in the pudding, or rather, in the way he’s manhandling her with the kind of expertise he really shouldn't have since - well. Since he’s never manhandled her _anything_ before tonight.

 

 _Mmm._ But yeah, he knows what he’s doing, alright.

 

She’s not sure how it happens but she finds herself sandwiched between the cold concrete wall on the far side of the room, and the very _not_ cold wall of Oliver’s solid bulk, his hands massaging her ass like he wants to imprint his mark on her forever. Not that she’s complaining.

 

Her own fingers dig into the short strands of his hair, directing his questing lips to the spot where her neck meets her jawline. Hngh. It’s a good thing he takes instructions so well. What a good partner. She’s trained him so well.

 

The course scratching of his beard over her skin is downright toe-curling, setting her _everything_ aflame like a bright spark to very dry kindling. And dry is right, she muses as she tugs on his hair and moves his head so she can push her nose against the day old stubble along his jawline. Because she can’t remember the last time a man ignited this sort of ‘lets just get naked right here’ kind of -  

 

“Don’t talk about other men,” Oliver husks in her ear as one of his hands squeezes her ass even harder for emphasis. He uses his other one to gently turn her cheek so she’s looking at him. “And use the word _naked_ in the same sentence.”

 

She giggles, then darts her tongue out to taste the tip of his nose, seeking forgiveness. “Sorry, inside thoughts made it outside. As usual.”

 

Her left leg lifts up to wrap around the outside of his thigh as she balances on her right foot. The hand on her ass glides down to stabilise her, pushing them impossibly closer together. She can feel his excitement as a result of her shameless advances nudging right between her legs, dirty and delicious.

 

Oliver grunts at the contact, forearms tensing, keeping her from grinding into him the way she really, really wants to. “Don’t - _God,_ Felicity, I’m...”   

 

“Your self-control is admirable,” she interrupts him, because she doesn't care for anything that starts with the word _‘don’t’_ at the moment, and also because it’s important to acknowledge his herculean effort to remain unaffected, even if she had seen right through it. Positive reinforcement, and all that. She drums her fingers against the back of his neck. “You know, I’ve never had to work so hard to get a reaction out of a man before.”

 

The groan from Oliver’s mouth is muffled by the fact that he’s decided to make a meal out of her earlobe, and if she didn’t already know that it’s an erogenous spot for her before (she didn’t), she sure does now.

 

“I mean -” She gasps just as Oliver uses his very talented tongue to tug on her industrial piercing, and her entire body shudders with arousal. “You, _hngh,_ you came in all concerned and frantic and God, that was so hot. So hot. And then you lifted me like it was nothing and your hands just. They’re so big and -”

 

Oliver pulls back from her ear, nostrils flared, pupils wild and flashing with untamed desire. He abandons his hold on her leg in favour of placing both his hands against her shoulder blades, spanning the entire back of her sports bra. She can feel his fingers twitching, like he needs more. Wants more of her.

 

 _“_ Felicity. Can’t you see I’m _busy?”_

 

She nips at his chin, ignoring the way Oliver pinches his lips together in frustration. Let him be growly at her all he wants; it’s only spurring her on. The words that had been crowding  her head space all night need to be let out and she wants to tell him everything. She wants to babble at him because she’s feeling good, and delirious and sexy from the contact high and it’s not her fault that his general hotness is getting her riled up.

 

“You were all broody when you got me down.” Her hands slip under his shirt so she can run the tips of her nails down his abs, humming with delight at the way he clenches at her touch.

 

“And so very tense. It was like you were holding yourself back and I thought, but why? y’know? What’s Oliver go to hide? I wanted, oof-”

 

Oliver must realise that she’s not going to stop talking any time soon (smart man), and resorts to sucking on the skin of her neck, derailing her train of thought for a second. His teeth worries her skin like he’s punishing her for distracting him and she arches her neck to give him more room to work with.

 

“I just wanted to loosen you up.” She finishes, sighing as the rasp of Oliver’s stubble back and forth over her skin makes her melt into him. Her nails press further along the ridges of his muscles in retaliation.

 

“Mission accomplished,” Oliver growls into her neck, running his tongue over the vein that’s pulsing to the rapid beat of her heart, collecting the goosebumps that prickle all over her skin.

 

One of his hands reach under his own shirt to catch her wandering fingers. He places his palm over the back of hers, interlacing their hands together and pressing both against his abs. He lifts his head so she’s staring into the depths of his near-black irises.

 

“You like these, don’t you?”  

 

“Yeah,” she breaths, transfixed. She’s not ashamed to admit it. “Practically obsessed. Abs-sessed, ha!”

 

Oliver grins as his hand leaves hers, sliding out from under his shirt and reaches around to curve around her ass once more. “I’m obsessed with _this._ ”

 

“I noticed,” she groans, hooking her other leg around his hip as he hoists her up, both of them seemingly on the same wavelength now. He walks them over to the exercise mats, slowly kneeling down as to not jostle her, and she settles over him, straddling his thighs. At this height, she’s in the best position to just close the distance and kiss him.

 

She needs to kiss him.

 

She rolls her hips against him and has to clench her eyes shut at the desire that’s unfurling within her. Her nose bumps against his, breath mingling in the air between them.   

 

“You feel so good, Oliver.” She whispers against his lips, soft, feather-light touches that aren’t quite kisses, and yet convey so much more intimacy than she expected. She whimpers with need, dragging her hands down, down to his belt, toying with the buckle. “Real good.”

 

“Glad you approve,” he chuckles, sliding his hands down to her globes of her ass to give them a gentle squeeze.

 

It’s clear that they’re teetering on the precipice of something important; a monumental shift that could either be the best thing that could ever happen to them, or destroy the carefully maintained friendship they’ve tried so hard to cultivate. The roller-coaster of feelings he’s evoking in her, coupled with the way his calloused hands are languidly stroking down her spine is short-circuiting every one of her nerve endings and she’s leaning towards _best thing that could happen_ but.

 

“Oliver.” She pulls her hands away from his pants to sweep her tousled hair out of her face. She puts a good few inches of distance between their faces. “Oliver, wait. Stop.”

 

He stills under her. His face shutters; a neutral expression blankets his features. “I’m sorry,” he responds immediately, moving as though he wants to get up. “Sor-”

 

“No,” she hisses with a little bit more vehemence than necessary, pushing him back down. “Don’t you dare move.”

 

Wow, she thinks as she takes in the adorable confusion on his face. Hard to believe that the man before her used to be the infamous playboy Ollie Queen. Hard to believe, but not impossible - because she knows, in her soul, that this Oliver is _not_ Ollie, and she really, really likes Oliver so much more.   

 

“I just wanted to be clear,” she clarifies. “About uh, this. What we’re doing. That this isn’t just some... I think she’s really hot, gotta get her out of my system, one night only deal... kinda thing, is it?”

 

Her heart thunders in her ear, loud and obnoxious, and of course her ever-active brain starts overthinking because what if _it is_? What if she’s misread every single sign he’s been projecting up until now, and he’s only interested in her for now, and then when the competition is over, and they inevitably spend less time together -

 

“Do you... Is that what you think?”

 

Oliver runs a finger down her bare arm, goosebumps forming in its wake. He still sounds all sexed-up, desire dripping from every word and it’s distracting. Which is good. Good because it means she’s focusing more on _his_ voice than the one in her head telling her she’s about to get her heart broken.

 

“That one night with you is going to be enough for me?” He continues, catching hold of her wrist and bringing it to his lips, kissing it gently.

 

“Because you’re right,” he pauses and she gasps, rearing backwards, feeling the fissures in her heart cracking right open, but Oliver doesn’t let go of her wrist. He holds her there, eyes pinning her to the spot.

 

“You’re right that I think you’re hot, and gorgeous and I honestly can’t think of any other adjectives to describe how attracted I am to you because words aren’t enough. I can’t think, generally, most of the time when I’m around you.”

 

Felicity swallows as she lets his words sink in.

 

So maybe he isn’t only after a quick roll in the hay? In which case, _yay?_ And can they keep going then? She shifts over him, which serves as a startling reminder of just how hard he is, nestled between her legs and she groans, trying to tug her hand out of his grasp but he only holds on tighter. “Oliver...”

 

“But that’s the only thing you were right about.” He silences the protest bubbling from her lips by leaning in and nuzzling his stupid, smirking face against her cheek. Asshole. He knew exactly how she could have interpreted his words and he _still_ said them.

 

“The truth is that one night isn’t going to be enough. Neither will two, or three, even. I’d like...” He clears his throat, finally releasing his hold on her wrist to frame her face with his large hands. “I’d like to see where this goes, you and me, that is. If that’s what you want too.”

 

She nods quickly. The cynic in her head falls silent and she gives in to the all encompassing need that’s fuelled her actions up until that point. “It is _so_ what I want,” she breathes out in relief.

 

Her forehead falls forward, tilting just enough so their noses brush up against each other and his lips - his pretty lips curl up in a gentle smile. She sweeps her tongue over his bottom lip, grinning at the feeling of his coarse stubble scratching over her skin, anticipating the way his lips are going to feel against hers, all nice and hot and -

 

“So... every time you say you’re working out together _this_ is what you’re talking about?”

 

Felicity yelps at the interruption of an unfamiliar voice and falls off of Oliver, unceremoniously crashing in a heap on the exercise mat. She whimpers at the impact, shutting her eyes for a second to catch her breath.

 

“What the fuck?” Oliver growls and yeah, okay, a shiver of want travels through her at the sound but she can’t bring herself to care. Then she feels him wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a sitting position, asking quietly if she’s okay.

 

She cracks an eye open to answer him - yeah, she’s fine, sexually frustrated, but _fine_ \- only to have the words die on her lips when she comes face to face with a very amused Tommy Merlyn.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got longer than I expected (as did this fic, so I guess par on course for me hey). Two more to go!! Comments and kudos, as usual are loved and cherished like food for the starved. 
> 
> Happy Lunar New Year to those who celebrate! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	11. Chapter 11

“I’m gonna fall off.”

 

“You’re not gonna fall off. C’mon.”

 

Oliver smacks his palm on the ground in encouragement. He’s in a push-up position on the ground, facing Felicity who’s supposed to be balancing on a fitball while doing push-ups on his shoulders. Unfortunately, ever the cautious one, she hesitates, one foot on the ball, arms crossed over her chest.

 

“What if your shoulders can’t hold my weight?”

 

He scowls at her, offended. “I promise you I’ll be fine.”

 

“Don’t growl at me, it’s a valid concern - you dropped me last night!”

 

Oliver sighs, pushing himself into a kneeling position. “Last night I was distracted. And I dropped you on the bed, which I don’t remember you complaining about.”

 

His heart tingles at the way his words causes her cheeks to turn pink, and he’s suddenly overcome with a desperate need to pull her into his arms and never let go. She’s adorably annoyed, and if she didn’t have one foot up on the fitball, he’s sure she’d be stomping at him.

 

“Don’t talk about your bed right now. The point is that you still dropped me.”

 

The unimpressed turn of her lips makes him grin and the memory of them fooling around last night comes back to him in full force.

 

She’d convinced him to watch some movie with her, not that he’d needed much convincing in the first place since he pretty much wants to spend every waking moment with her. He can’t remember what movie it was, or what it was about because after half an hour of trying very hard to pretend he was paying attention to whatever was on her screen and not _her,_ he gave up and they ended up making out like a pair of horny teenagers on her couch.

 

Making up for lost time, she’d told him as she urged them from the couch, slinging her legs around his hips so he can carry them to her bedroom. Only to - unfortunately for him - trip over one of her haphazardly discarded heels by her bed.

 

“Stop thinking of us in bed,” Felicity hisses, smacking him lightly on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. “People are gonna _know,_ God!”

 

Yeah. There’s that too.

 

Felicity, worried about the extra scrutiny she might face on top of the constant media presence as a result of the show, had suggested they keep the change in their relationship between them (and regretfully, Tommy) for now. Especially since she works for his family’s company and already has to face the horrible whispers behind her back about her recent promotion - something he recalls her telling him about a while ago.

 

And to be fair, keeping them a secret is, really, totally fine with him. He’s spent so much of his life in the public eye; his every relationship and romantic mishaps splattered on every local tabloid, that this is a welcome change for him. Something that’s special and precious and wholly _theirs._

 

Even if he does sometimes want to yell from across the rooftops that they’re together.

 

He smiles fondly at her, getting to his feet because it’s clear she’s no longer in the mood to go through with their workout. “Who’s gonna know? There’s no one here,” he drawls, reaching out to uncurl her arms from her chest. “Just you, and me, and this... very empty room.”

 

“Oliver!” She squirms away from his hands, but forgets about the fitball that’s right behind her so she runs backwards into it, almost falling over just as Oliver wraps his hands around her body, keeping her upright.

 

“Be careful,” he whispers into her hair, twirling the end of her ponytail around his fingers.

 

“Wouldn't have tripped if you weren’t so handsy,” she grumbles, but doesn’t do a single thing to pull away from him. In fact, he feels her twist the material of his workout shirt in her hands, rubbing her nose against his collar bone. Snuggling.

 

She’s snuggling into him.

 

It still feels surreal, having her so close without any of the emotional barriers - his and hers - between them. They’ve spent a few nights together since the shift in their relationship, making out and fooling around, which usually ends up with them cuddling in bed (they’ve come close to having sex but they haven’t... yet) but he still wants to pinch himself now and again just to make sure this is real.

 

“Come over tonight.” It slips out unbidden, borne from his irrational need to be around her despite having stayed over at her place two nights in a row. “Mom and Walter are away on a business trip, Thea -”    

 

“Thea wants to have dinner with me tonight,” Felicity cuts him off. She steps away from him and out of his embrace, rolling her shoulders. “To arrange private yoga sessions, apparently, but I think she just wants to gossip.”

 

Oliver frowns. “Thea and I had lunch together today,” he tells her, nose scrunching up thoughtfully. “She told me she’d be out tonight so I’ll have the mansion to myself. She didn’t say she was going out with you though. Are you guys - uh.” He tries to think of things two young women could get up to all night, refusing to entertain the more x-rated ideas because _no._ “Are you having like a slumber party?”

 

Felicity laughs at him, full bellied, obviously very amused. “First of all, we’re not twelve. Second of all, she’s not the Queen sibling I want to have slumber parties with anyway,” she teases, giving him her patented not-quite-a-wink. She inches up on the tip of her toes, brushes her fingers over his day old scruff and kisses his cheek.

 

Warmth spreads through him at the contact, stomach turning because it’s so gentle and soft and intimate. She pats his cheek twice before pulling away. “But no, we’re just having dinner. I don’t know what her plans are after that.”

 

He huffs with discontent. He doesn’t like not knowing what his sister is up to, and he doesn’t like it even more when it involves his... girlfriend? He feels himself blush at the thought. Girlfriend sounds so juvenile; horribly inadequate for what Felicity means to him.

 

Maybe he should ask her what she prefers? He’s out of his depth here, having gone so long without being in a solid, meaningful relationship. Do they even need labels if they’re keeping _them_ a secret? Is it too soon for labels? They had agreed to see where this thing goes, but according to Thea, and the horrid reality shows she insists on watching, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re... exclusive?

 

But he sure would like them to be.

 

Hypocritical of him, he knows, since his past is littered with non-exclusivity and casual hookups even when he was meant to be in a committed relationship with Laurel. But he’s different now. _Felicity’s_ different.

 

He watches her pack up, frowning when she purses her lips reading something on her phone - work, probably - which makes him want to kiss the worry lines on her forehead away. Sooner than he’d like, she shrugs her shirt on and then slings her bag over her shoulder before walking back to him. Felicity slips her much smaller hand into his, giving it a quick squeeze, oblivious to cacophony of thoughts in his head.

 

“Hey, I’m sure it’s fine, I’ll ask her what she’s doing after dinner and let you know,” Felicity murmurs, misinterpreting his confusion over their relationship status for concern over his sister.

 

Though now that he thinks about it, he _is_ concerned about Thea. He remembers what he was like at her age; seventeen, with the biggest chip on his shoulder because he’s _Oliver Queen_ and he shudders at the thought of what Thea could possibly get up to.

 

Yeah, okay. This is getting way too overwhelming. He can only handle one thing at a time on most days, and the one-two punch of agonising over labels _and_ worrying about Thea is sending him into a tailspin.

 

He unclenches his jaw and exhales, counting to ten in his head.

 

“That’s... not necessary. It’s okay.” He reminds himself that he’s has to learn to trust his sister more, and if she’s spending her time with Felicity, even if it’s not the entire night, how bad can it be?

 

He sighs before continuing. “There’s a code, right? Girl code, or something. Thea’s going to hold you to that, and I don’t want you facing her wrath just because I’m being... overprotective.”

 

Felicity grins, leaning up to swipe a kiss over the corner of his lips. “Mmhm. Smart man. See you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

 

He savours the feeling of her lips on him, eyes fluttering shut because he won’t see her again until the next day. Felicity slinks past him, squeezing his hand one last time before making for the exit.

 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he repeats, trying very hard not to let his disappoint show as he stares at her retreating back.

 

He’s a grown man, for God’s sake. He can get through one night without Felicity just fine. He has a million things to catch up on anyway; programs to write for his clients, he has to look over some very overdue admin work for Diggle, plus he promised Felicity he would study the prerequisites for their final challenge so they can figure out a training plan for the final week.

 

Oliver shakes his head, tries to get out of this strange funk he’s found himself in. Just because he’s feeling confused about his relationship with Felicity and his brain is working overtime jumping to conclusions about what his sister’s up to doesn’t mean there’s anything to be worried about.

 

He’s about to resign himself to a night of boring paperwork when his phone chimes with an incoming text. Part of him hopes it’s Felicity telling him her plans have been cancelled, but to his disappointment, it’s just Roy.  

 

_Boys night! Dig and I are coming to pick you up, dress to impress, dude! No excuses!_

 

Shrugging, he sends a text back agreeing to meet them at the mansion. If he can’t be with Felicity tonight, he might as well try and have some fun with the guys.

 

What harm can come from that?

* * *

 

 

Felicity’s become really good at dodging paparazzi - not a skill she thought she’d ever need, but here she is. She times her exit out of the cab just as a group of young girls walk past, falling in step with them as she makes her way to the restaurant Thea wants to meet up at.

 

It’s a cool evening, which means it’s entirely appropriate for her to be wearing her large trench coat out in the city, providing even more cover from the persistent gaggle of cameras that seem to have increased tenfold now that they’re so close to finishing the competition.

 

She’ll be so glad when it’s all over.

 

The bell chimes as she pushes the door open, and she almost immediately spots Thea in the corner, fiddling with her phone. She walks up to the younger girl, pulling off her trench coat and hands it over to a waiter before sitting down.

 

“Hey, Thea.”

 

Surprise flickers over her face before she grins at her. She flips her phone over so the screen’s face down. “Hey, Felicity!”

 

The innocent look on her face doesn’t fool anyone and Felicity is immediately set on high alert. Maybe there was some merit to Oliver’s fussing earlier. Hm.

 

“I took the liberty to get us the chef’s special, so we don’t have to choose dishes, I hate having to choose. This way they’ll do it for us,” Thea announces. “I told the kitchen you’re allergic to nuts too, don’t worry!”

 

Oliver must have mentioned it to Thea since she doesn’t recall ever telling her that. Sweet man. “Thanks, Thea. I appreciate it.” Felicity spreads the napkin over her lap and takes a sip of water. “You wanted to talk about yoga classes?”

 

“Sure.”

 

The twinkle in Thea’s eye says otherwise, though, and Felicity figures out she’s been duped into this dinner. She truly should have known better. “Thea.”

 

“I do! I promise. Private ones, so you know, I don’t hold the rest of the class back in the studio. Maybe you can come over to the mansion, and um, Ollie can join us too? I know he didn’t like it last time, but I think he would be more receptive without an audience.”

 

Oh, Felicity knows how receptive he can be without an audience, alright. Just last night he’d shown his appreciation for her flexibility when they wound up tangled in her bed, wrestling for the remote because he was hell bent on not watching another episode of Game of Thrones. He lost, but only because she’d distracted him with her legs and her thighs and -

 

“Felicity?”

 

She blinks the last vestiges of the memory away and licks her lips. “Yeah, that can be arranged. After the show is done, preferably. I can sort out my schedule with work and the gym without the extra training sessions.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Thea drawls. Their appetisers arrive and she stops speaking, but the glint in her eyes doesn’t disappear and wariness creeps into Felicity’s veins. Oliver’s talked about Thea a fair bit, told her about how sneaky and scheming she can be.

 

“I’ll check with Ollie what his schedule is like too.” Thea clicks her tongue, feigning nonchalance. “See if he can spare some time away from whoever he’s hooking up with this week.”

 

_What?_

 

The undignified choking fit Thea’s sentence sends her into attracts the attention of the waiters nearby and Felicity waves them off frantically. Thea rushes over to her side of the table with a glass of water and pats her on her back.

 

“Shit, sorry, I thought you knew. Since you guys are so close and all.”

 

Only she doesn’t sound sorry at all. That little -

 

“I’m fine, Thea,” Felicity wheezes, hand on her heart, catching her breath. “I’m fine.”

 

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She wanders back to her side of the table, settling primly in her seat. “But surely you know what he’s been up to. He’s out like, all night sometimes, and doesn’t get back until I leave for school. He pretends it’s normal, but we both know it’s not. So he’s probably hooking up with groupies or something, right? Fans of the show?”

 

“Thea, I don’t -”

 

“Oh, maybe one of the women who keep ogling him at the gym?”

 

Felicity can’t help the snort of derision that leaves her lips. “ _No_.”

 

Mistake. Big mistake.

 

Because sharp as a razor, Thea picks up on her disdain and very carefully sets her fork down, sits up straight and narrows her eyes at her. “So you _do_ know who he’s sleeping around with.”

 

Okay, _rude_ , he’s not sleeping around, he’s with one person, _her,_ who he’s not even _sleeping with,_ even though they’ve come close so many times. But Thea doesn't need to know that. Thea doesn’t need to know anything right now.

 

Especially after the whole ‘Yoga-Olicity-Instagram’ ordeal. She can only imagine what kind of madness will result from the news that Olicity (Oliver's going to have an aneurysm when he finds out she's calling them that in her head) is actually real. Yeah, she’s so not ready for that kind of insanity.

 

“He’s not seeing -,” Felicity starts, then changes tactics because Thea’s smart and lying outright to her isn’t going to work.

 

“I mean, I don’t know who he’s with. Um, it could be someone from the gym, I don’t know, we don’t tell each other these things.”

 

Thea merely cocks an eyebrow at her.

 

Felicity feels her palms get sweaty and her eyes dart around, wishing their main course would just appear so that Thea has something else to focus on besides her.  

 

“It... It’s not like it’s my business, really.” She twists the corners of the napkin on her lap. “He shows up to training on time, and we get what we need to do done. The show is almost over anyway, and we’ll probably spend less time together...”

 

The realisation hurts a little, even though she knows what she’s saying is only half the truth. Oliver had seemed pretty serious when he told he said he wanted to find out ‘where this goes’ so surely that meant they’d keep doing this even after the show was done... right?

 

“Honestly,” Felicity finds herself saying before she can stop herself. “I think it’s good he’s, uh, dating. We all need people in our lives and after the things he’s gone through, I think it’s great. That he’s in a relationship with someone who can keep him grounded.”

 

Thea rolls her eyes just as a mouthwatering dish of chicken appears before them. “Shoulda’ known you’d be a romantic.”

 

Thea spears a piece of chicken with her fork and waves it around. “Ollie isn’t _dating_. He ‘dated’ Laurel and still fooled around with every other girl who bat her eyelashes at him. He doesn’t do relationships. Maybe it’s just not in his blood. God knows our dad wasn’t the best role model with it comes to affairs of the heart.”

 

A surge of irritation washes over Felicity at the way Thea dismisses her brother, because Felicity knows Oliver isn’t that guy anymore. Hell, he hasn’t been that guy since he returned from the island, so there really isn’t any reason for Thea to still think of him that way.

 

She has half a mind to just come right out and tell Thea that it’s _her -_ that Felicity’s the one he’s been hanging out with, and that Oliver’s sweet and kind, and amazing and none of the things Thea thinks of him.

 

But they’ve agreed to keep this a secret for now, and so she reels her indignation in and exhales slowly.

 

“I’m sure if the right woman comes along he’ll change his mind,” Felicity says, keeping a neutral tone so Thea doesn’t suspect anything. “He’s different now, anyway. I didn’t really know him before this, but the Oliver I know isn’t like that, and I don’t think he’s the type to just sleep around anymore. He’s a decent guy.”

 

Thea chews slowly. “Oh? You think he’s a decent guy?”

 

“Um.” How does she tackle this? How does she convince Thea Oliver’s changed, while pretending she’s not completely head over heels for him? “I’m just saying, maybe he’s outgrown the whole bad boy image. Which is a good thing.”  

 

Thea hums, pursing her lips. “So if say, hypothetically speaking, my brother asked you out...”

 

“We’re just friends, Thea.” She hates that she’s lying to her and the flash of disappointment on Thea’s face makes her feel worse than she already does. “Really good friends.”

 

“Right, right.” Only, the gleam in Thea’s eyes doesn’t dim and just as Felicity starts to reiterate that yes, they’re just friends, Thea rolls her shoulders and pins her with a rather daunting stare.

 

“Then you don’t care that Oliver’s currently out on the prowl for some ‘sweet ass’?”  

 

For the second time that night, Felicity nearly chokes - impressive, for a dinner she’s barely even touched - but this time it goes unnoticed because Thea’s fishing her phone out to show her something on it.

 

“See?”

 

Felicity doesn't know what to expect when Thea hands her phone to her, but it certainly isn’t a text thread between her and Roy. She glances up at Thea, tilting her head.

 

“Read it,” Thea huffs.

 

“Um, okay.” Felicity takes the phone and scrolls through the messages, her heart sinking deeper and deeper into her stomach with every word that she reads.

 

_Having dinner with Felicity, hang out after?_

 

_Sure, but it’ll have to be pretty late. Boys night. We’re heading out to Verdant. D says O needs to let loose._

 

_Okay, have fun!_

 

_Sure will. O looking for some sweet ass tonight, wants me and D to be his wingmen. Talk to you later!_

 

Swallowing hard, Felicity reads and re-reads the chain of texts again until her vision blurs and Thea has to peel the phone out of her fingers.

 

“Um, Felicity?”

 

Thea’s voice takes on a strange tone, but Felicity ignores it. The same way she ignores the burn of hurt spreading outwards, from her heart right to her fingertips. Dread seeps into her skin as she pictures Oliver at Verdant, surrounded by his many adoring fans, fawning over him.

 

She shudders involuntarily.  

 

The texts could mean nothing.

 

Oliver wouldn’t lie to her.

 

Would he?

 

He’s the one who wanted this. He said so himself. But maybe he meant it in a more casual, _lets see how things go between us, but we can still see other people_ kind of way - which is entirely possible, now that she thinks about it.

 

It leaves her with a horrible taste in her mouth; slightly humiliated, feeling more than a little stupid. She should have made it clear she wasn’t a casual kind of girl, but she _hadn’t,_ having gotten all caught up with the hotness and the sexiness and the whole keeping this a secret thing, and now she’s paying for it.

 

“Felicity, are you okay?”

 

She realises she’s been staring blankly into space for a while as she sorts through her thoughts and Thea’s peering at her, alarmed, if not a little worried.

 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Felicity manages. “Fine. I... um, I think I’m gonna go,” she mumbles.

 

“Wait, _crap,_ look Fel-”

 

“No, I’m really okay,” Felicity insists. She calls for a waiter to bring her coat and pulls out a couple of bills, throwing them onto the table. “I’m not that hungry anymore.”

* * *

 

 

Roy’s plastered. The kid’s a lightweight, but likes to pretend he’s not, which, under other circumstances would have been a lot fun, except tonight it’s not because Roy apparently, has taken it upon himself to be a complete dick.

 

“But you could have anyone you wanted, y’know?” Roy swings his arms out towards Verdant’s crowded, pulsating dance floor. “These women. Any of them. You’re Oliver Queen. You’re a TV star!”

 

“I don’t _want_ any of them,” Oliver grumbles, taking a huge swig of his drink. The scotch burns its way down his throat, thick and decadent. “And I’m not a TV star.”

 

“Man, you’re on TV every week. That counts as a TV star in my books,” Diggle chuckles, patting him on the back. “Your TV stardom is bringing in customers. It’s great.”   

 

“Bringing in the ladeeees! Every single laaaay-”

 

“Roy!” Oliver snatches his cocktail glass out of Roy’s hand. “Think you’ve had enough, buddy.”

 

“Is it because of Fliss- Feli- Flissity?” Roy leans sideways, tries to pry his drink from Oliver’s fingers. “You don’t want any of these hot ladies because you want Ol-Olicity to stop being a rumour and be real?”

 

Yes, Oliver wants to say. Yes, that is exactly what I want, even if Olicity is a stupid name, because no one else can compare to Felicity; not any of the women who have tried to chat him up in the last couple of hours, and definitely none of the ladies Roy’s not so subtly been bringing up to their tables all night.

 

“Don’t make Olicity a thing.” He finishes the rest of the scotch and waves down a wandering waiter to ask for another. “Felicity is great, and wonderful, but we’re just... we’re friends.”

 

Friends who make out and spend entire nights together, bickering about what shows to watch and how the light from her tablet prevents him from sleeping, but he’ll never get out of bed because he just wants to be around her all the time.

 

“D’y - you think, uh, what’s his name - Barry, is just friends with Flissty too?”

 

Oliver turns sharply to Roy, nearly knocking over his drink that just arrived. “What is this about Barry?”

 

“Ha, Barricity!”

 

“That’s not a thing either,” Oliver growls. “Why would -” Images of them laughing together in the green room flashes in his mind’s eye. “Why would you even say that?”

 

“‘Cuz she’s goin’ to see him in two weeks,” Roy slurs. He whips his head around to stare at Diggle. “Right? She told you, right?”

 

Oliver blinks at Diggle. “She did?”

 

“Mhm. Cancelled her yoga classes for a week while she’s in Central City,” Diggle confirms.

 

There’s a rushing noise in his ears that may or may not be part of the thumping music in the club, muting the conversation between Roy and Diggle, and he’s left with the near-suffocating sensation around his heart. Oliver feels like he’s free-falling into a gaping pit with nothing to hold on to.

 

He downs his drink. Calls for another.

 

“Uh, you wanna slow down, Oliver?”

 

He shrugs Diggle’s concerned hand off his shoulder. “ _No._ ”

 

Felicity hasn’t mentioned anything about Barry _\- ugh_ \- much less going to Central City to see him and it’s disconcerting. It’s not like she has to tell him everything in her life, of course, but a heads up would have been nice, especially if she was going to be gone for a whole week.

 

Gone for an entire week, two weeks from now.

 

After the competition then. Around the time that they had tentatively discussed coming clean about their relationship to the public. Unless she doesn’t think that there would be anything to come clean about by then? Because -   

 

“Are you jealous, Oliver?” Roy thumps his back, giggling as he sways in his seat. “You look jealous. But if you’re _just friends_ ,” he makes finger quotes in the air. “Then you have nothing to be jealous about, right?”

 

Diggle must notice the twitch in Oliver’s eye and the way he’s clenching his fist because he turns to the younger man slowly. “Roy, cut it out,” he warns.

 

“No, Dig. I really think they’d be cute together. Nerdy and all awkward. Actually, she’s probably more his type than yours. And Flis - Fel - ugh - _she_ deserves someone who’s not too chicken shit to ask her out unlike _some people_.” Roy winks at him.

 

It dawns upon Oliver, through the haze of alcohol and simmering frustration bubbling under his skin, that Roy’s doing this on purpose; egging him on for whatever asinine reason the kid has in his idiot head of his. He really shouldn’t react, shouldn’t play into his hands the way Roy’s expecting him to but God does he want to punch him really hard right now.

 

He doesn’t. He’s better than that - he’s got more self-control now, and he knows the truth about him and Felicity. The secret _whatever-they-are_ isn’t his to reveal - it’s theirs, and as much as he wants to, he’s going to respect their agreement to keep it a secret because he’s not, in fact, the douchebag everyone seems to think he is.  

 

“Shut up, Roy. I mean it.”

 

Roy grins innocently at him. “Aw, did I hit a nerve? Maybe uh, maybe you should just ask her out then. Instead of just mooning at her all the time like a lost puppy. Before y’know. _Barry_ does.”

 

Oliver slams his once again empty glass onto the table, and Roy snaps backwards, colliding into Diggle’s frame in surprise.

 

It would be so easy, just to wipe the smug grin off both Dig’s and Roy’s faces, to give in to the temptation and announce to the world that he _already_ asked her out. That she’s agreed to be with him, and not goddamned _Barry._ That they woke up together this morning and were both almost late for work because cuddling in bed had been far more enticing than being out of it.

 

Instead, he just grits his teeth, pushes past his so-called friends so can get out of the booth and tugs his coat on. He’s brimming with anxiety and frustration and spending even one more minute with them risks him blurting out the truth about his relationship with Felicity.

 

“Felicity’s just a friend, that’s all. Nothing more,” he tells them firmly.

 

“Uh, man -” Diggle shifts in his seat, but Oliver holds up a hand to stop him.

 

“And if she wants to go see Barry, she can go see Barry, I don’t care. Why would I care? I came out tonight because I thought we were going to just have some fun, but I’m now getting the third degree about Felicity, even though, like you said, it’s not like she’s _my type_ -”

 

“Not your type?”

 

His ears burn up at the interruption, at the same time his blood freezes in his veins. A chill travels down his spine.

 

“Who’s not your type, Oliver?”

 

Very slowly, ignoring the warning looks on both Roy and Diggle’s faces, he turns around.

 

Felicity stands before him, stunning as usual, her trench coat unbuttoned, revealing a gorgeous red dress she must have put on for dinner with Thea. He’s seen the dress in her closet, wondered how it would look like on her, _off her,_ and for a second he forgets he has an audience and steps towards her, only to have her stumble backwards, out of his reach.

 

“Who’s not your type, Oliver?” she repeats, her voice even, betraying nothing.

 

Her face is stony, lacking any of her usual animated expressions, masking what her eyes are unable to:

 

Complete and utter devastation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and misunderstandings! Trouble! Don't... hate me :) 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	12. Chapter 12

Everything around him screeches to a halt.

 

He stands frozen on the spot; half in, half out of his coat, heart thudding in his ear as he tries to work his jaw to say something. Anything.

 

He fails.

 

“Well, okay then.” Felicity’s the one who breaks their silent impasse. She turns away from him to look at the Diggle and Roy. Her voice is saccharine sweet. “Thought I’d join in on the sweet ass-hunting tonight if you don’t mind. Maybe I’ll have some luck finding someone _my_ type.”

 

“What? _No!_ There is - was no ass-hunting,” Oliver sputters, finally finding his voice. He steps towards Felicity, chest constricting with every second that Felicity refuses to look at him. “Felicity, I -”

 

Felicity flicks her gaze to him, mutinous and severe, and Oliver winces, words dying on his lips.

 

“Mmhm, yeah, okay, we are outta here,” Diggle announces suddenly.

 

Ignoring Roy’s protests, Diggle drags him out of the booth, one hand on his collar, the other steadying him so he doesn't fall over his own feet. He shoves Roy forward, giving Oliver one last apologetic look.

 

“See you two at the gym.” He arches his brows in a silent _‘fix this shit, Queen’_ before disappearing into the throng of bodies on the dancefloor and then Oliver’s left alone with one very irate Felicity.

 

“Talk about a mood killer,” she murmurs under her breath. Her hands dip into the pockets of her trench coat, shoulders slumped forward, before twisting her head around to side-eye him. “Cock-blocked you, did I?”

 

 _Cock- blocked?_ Jesus, the only reason he said what he did was because Roy was being a dick, and he was trying to keep their secret. Irritation flares in him. “Felicity, what are you talking about?”

 

“I don’t want to do this here,” she mutters, brushing past him, heels clicking with purpose on against the floor. “Too public, lots of phones around.”

 

Oliver scrambles to catch up to her, impressed that he even makes it that far since the effects of his last two drinks are starting to make themselves known. He places a hand over her shoulder, making her spin around in a flurry of beige and red and blonde, tilting her head to stare pointedly at his hand.

 

He removes it, but stays close so she doesn't attempt to run again.

 

“You can’t show up here, all worked up over something, clearly, and just walk away from me without an explanation.”

 

“You just announced to our friends that I’m _not your type_ , so excuse me if I’m not in the mood to talk to you right now.”

 

Oh, for crying out loud.

 

“I only said that because I didn’t want to blow our cover!”

 

“Yeah? And was looking for sweet ass part of our cover too?”

 

This is the second time she’s said that - what the fuck is it with this whole _sweet ass_ thing?

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Felicity!” He runs his hand through his hair, frustrated. Does she really think he’s here to hook up with someone? Is that what she thinks of him, after _everything?_

 

His head is pounding and the loud dance music is grating on his nerves. _Fuck._ The room’s swaying and Felicity’s still just glaring at him, an unmovable spot in his line of sight and he half wants to hug her and push her away and he just -

 

“Did you think I was here to pick up?” he blurts out. “That I was going to sleep with some random girl from the bar, when all I wanted was to spend the night with you? That’s how little you think of me? How much you trust me?”

 

“This isn’t about trust, Oliver.”

 

“Then what is it about, Felicity? You’re angry at me for something I have no intention of doing, _had_ no intention of doing, how is this not about trust?”

 

For the first time that night Felicity’s stoic demeanour crumbles and uncertainty flashes over her features. She blinks at him, gaze softening, a puff of air blowing out from between her lips.

 

“I don’t know. I just thought - maybe... okay, maybe it is a little about trust,” she says, barely audible over the hard base pumping through the loudspeakers.

 

Oh. That _hurts._ It could be the result of the alcohol, but everything she’s just said hits him right in his gut, like he’s been violently body-tackled to the ground. Of all the people he’d have expected to doubt and think this poorly of him, he never thought it would be Felicity.

 

“I literally asked you wanted to stay with me tonight, and you really thought I would come out here to -”

 

“Look, don’t know what I thought, okay?!” Felicity snaps, wringing her hands. “Coming here was a mistake.”

 

A gaggle of girls walk in between them, casting curious glances their way before scurrying off towards the bar. Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this here - Felicity was right again, _as usual_ \- because the last thing he wants is their argument splashed all over the tabloids the next morning.

 

“- and then there was that text Roy sent to Thea and I just thought that maybe because we weren’t spending the night together - not that, we were going to _spend the night_ , spend the night, but I’ve had people break up with me for less so y’know -”

 

He furrows his brows, catching up to what she’s saying at the last second. “You thought that I came looking for someone else because you had other plans tonight?”

 

“I already said I don’t know what I thought!” Felicity squeezes her hands together, shoulders tense, cheeks aflame. Her voice rises in a crescendo. “I didn't want to believe it, but then you said I wasn’t your type, so _I don’t know_ , Oliver. Maybe we’re doing this as a casual thing, maybe you’re seeing other people, which, by the way I’m not judging but I don’t do casual. That’s not what I’m here for, okay?”

 

A crowd is gathering around them, and they’re not exactly being discreet about being in a fight so he really should just back off, for both their sakes. But then Roy’s smirking face telling him about _Barry_ swims before him, taunting him about her stupid secret trip to Central City - yet another secret she’s keeping, besides _them_ \- and he just doesn’t care anymore.

 

“Casual?” His voice matches hers, seething with incredulity. “Seeing other people!?” he bellows. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re the one going to Central City to see Barry, and you’re accusing _me_ of seeing other people?”

 

Felicity takes a step backwards at his outburst, wide-eyed, gasping in shock and her reaction gives him pause. Slack-jawed, eyes shining with emotion, Felicity purses her lips together and she lets out a sad, heart-wrenching whimper.

 

“I... I’m going to Central City for work,” she whispers. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and when she speaks again, it’s in a hoarse, steely tone that he’s never heard from her before.

 

“Which is part of my job as VP of your mother’s company, in case you’ve forgotten. Barry hasn’t even crossed my mind. No one else has crossed my mind since we... started this. Not a single other person. Why would you even think that?”

 

She looks so betrayed at the thought that guilt crashes right into him. Of course. Fuck, he’s an _idiot_. She’s talked to him about Star Labs and a possibility for a joint research project before. Star Labs, which is in Central City. Crap.

 

He fucked up and let Roy’s drunk ramblings get the better of him. He's frustrated and angry with himself because he should have known better, but the damage has been done. The tips of his fingers tingle with the need to reach out to her but Felicity’s curled into herself, arms hugging her body closely like armor around her heart.

 

Shielding herself against him. Wow, that _stings._

 

Watching her act like this is sobering; bringing with it a sudden clarity that can only be associated with the hurt and shame that’s creeping under his skin.

 

He never wanted to hurt her, ever. No matter what he believed tonight, putting the disbelief and resentment that’s currently reflected in her eyes is not what he had set out to do. Oliver takes a step back, sucks in a breath and tries to flush the anger out of his system.

 

Her beautiful face is frowning at him, more upset than he’s ever seen her before, and that’s including the time when they were constantly arguing with one another. He sways on his feet at the gravity of the thought, which only serves as a reminder that he did just have an insane amount of alcohol in a really short space of time.

 

He feels a headache coming on; the result of the combination of the thumping music and the alcohol and the million and one regrets that’s churning in his head, but he wants to make her understand why he lashed out. That he didn’t mean to hurt her.

 

“Felicity...”

 

“No, um, I think I’ve had enough of being the entertainment for tonight,” she mumbles, tilting her head so she can look past him at what he can only assume is a sea of cameras and phones recording every single second of their conversation.

 

Her eyes meet his again, distant and sad; piercing into him like a knife slowly twisting it’s way into his heart. He tries again.

 

“Felicity, please let me -”

 

“No, Oliver,” she insists, firm and unwavering. “I don't want to have this conversation right now. Not like this. I’m going home. I’ll call you.”

 

With one last wary glance around her, she ducks around the still gob-smacked onlookers, tugging her trench coat tightly around herself and disappears from his sight.  

 

Well, _fuck._

* * *

 

 

“Hold all my calls!”

 

Felicity doesn’t spare a glance at her assistant as she storms into her office. “And I mean all my calls.”

 

The clicking of Lydia's heels follow her into her office. “Uh, yeah, okay, but -”

 

Felicity sinks into her seat, lets out a heavy sigh and rolls her neck and blinks tiredly at her. “But what?”

 

The poor girl licks her lips and fidgets uneasily in front of her. “In the last hour alone, you’ve received thirteen comment requests, four inquiries for interviews and a bunch of other messages that I haven’t been able to sort through yet. It just seems like it would be easier if you... released a statement about last night? Maybe?”

 

She appreciates her concern, she does, really. But Felicity’s just spent her entire morning doing major damage control, convincing the board of directors that even though she’s currently splashed all over the news for very non-professional reasons, she can still do her goddamned job. And fielding calls from the local papers sure as hell isn’t part of it.

 

“I don’t have time to write a statement,” Felicity grumbles. “Why does everyone care? This is ridiculous. And why can’t they just be happy with what they already have?"

 

“Well, they don’t really _have_ anything.”

 

Felicity looks up sharply at her assistant. “Are you kidding me?”

 

“All they have are a bunch of photos of you and Oliver at Verdant arguing, and second hand accounts about what you were arguing about. Somehow, no one can get any videos from anywhere, which, uh, is _interesting,”_ she tilts her head pointedly at Felicity. “So it’s all just a bunch of hearsay and speculation, which is why the interest is so high, you know? If you just put out a statement, clear things up a little, then maybe people will move on and -”

 

“I’m not going to add fuel to this unnecessary fire, Lydia. I - We’re on the front cover of five different papers today alone, and I’ve lost track of how many more online. That’s more coverage than when we won the last two rounds of the show _combined_.” And she knows this because her tracker had crashed from the influx of mentions and notifications after their argument last night.

 

She presses the heel of her hand against her forehead, trying to stem what she knows is an oncoming migraine. She pulls her glasses off her face and moans as the phone rings from outside her office.

 

“You probably should get that,” she sighs after a beat. Lydia shrugs sympathetically and nods once in understanding before exiting her office. “And if it’s not urgent, I’m not available,” she calls out.  

 

She just needs some time, that’s all. A couple of hours to herself that doesn’t involve her thinking about Oliver, or the Oliver-related mess that she’s in right now. She wants to forget the tabloids, forget about their fight, and desperately wants to be neck deep in her beloved coding projects, fixing bugs she _knows_ she can fix because that’s what she’s good at.

 

That’s all she wants. Is that too much to ask for?

 

Clearly, it is, because barely even a minute later, just as she’s about to start running the software she’s reviewing, the door to her office slams open again. She growls in frustration, ready to use her Loud Voice because _seriously,_ until she realises it’s not Lydia who’s burst in this time.

 

It’s Thea.

 

Something in Felicity's expression must convey how much she doesn’t appreciate the interruption because the girl gulps and does everything she can to avoid making eye contact with her.

 

“Hi, Felicity.”

 

“Thea,” Felicity greets, less warmly than she usually would, but honestly? After the stunt she pulled?

 

She should have picked up on it sooner, but it had occurred to her as she made her way home from Verdant the night before that the entire screwed up situation she and Oliver are in had been orchestrated by Thea, with Roy’s help. She’s positive that the text message from Roy she’d seen on Thea’s phone had been a plant, a fake exchange meant to mislead her into thinking that Oliver was messing around. In fact, the whole dinner was probably a set up, right down to the things Thea had been saying about Oliver.  

 

“I’m so, so sorry, Felicity.” Thea pulls out the chair on the opposite side of her desk and slumps down into it.

 

“Okay,” Felicity replies coolly. She shuffles a pile of reports on her desk more violently than she should, thumping them against the surface of her desk before shoving them into a drawer.

 

“I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen, honest. It was just a little bit of fun, you know? It backfired spectacularly, obviously. It was stupid.”

 

“Thea.” She sighs heavily. Her suspicions have just been confirmed but somehow it doesn’t make her feel any better. “There’s nothing _fun_ about messing with people’s lives. Or their feelings. It’s... pretty cruel, and yes, stupid.”

 

“I know, I know.” Gone is Thea’s usual vibrant energy, her words lacking the snark and enthusiasm that she’s always associated with the young girl. Thea holds both her hands clasped over her lap, head bowed down.

 

“All I wanted was to nudge you and Oliver in the right direction because I wanted you to get together. You weren’t meant to end up fighting, I’m sorry. Again.”

 

It’s so ridiculously hard staying mad at Thea, especially when it’s clear how much she regrets what she’s done. And also because she can’t bear to see her so forlorn and disheartened, Felicity decides to relieve her of some of her apparent misery. 

 

“Well, Oliver and I were already together,” Felicity confesses, bracing herself for Thea's reaction. 

 

She doesn't disappoint. Thea’s head shoots up, mouth agape. “So it’s _true?”_ It comes out a little hysterical, high-pitched and strangled, and Thea leans forward eagerly. “The tabloids weren’t making it up? That you’re really dating?”

 

“We’re keeping it quiet,” Felicity admits. There’s little point in maintaining the secrecy anymore since it’s pretty much plastered all over the news. “Were, I guess. _Were_ keeping it a secret.”

 

“Oh no,” Thea laments. Felicity can practically see the cogs working in her head as Thea starts piecing everything together. “Oh, no, no no...” she repeats, clenching her fists.

 

“You’re together and I made you think he was _cheating_ on you! Oh my God, I’m so stupid. Felicity, I swear, I didn’t -”

 

“It’s okay,” Felicity cuts her off, quickly glancing outside to make sure no one’s noticed Thea’s dramatics. She turns back to Thea, reaching out to place her palm over Thea’s fidgeting hands in what she hopes is a comforting gesture.

 

“I mean, it’s _not_ okay. Messing with our lives was definitely not okay, but... what’s done is done. We can’t change what happened. Maybe it was for the best, since it kind of brought up issues that we really needed to clear up and -”

 

Thea rolls her chair backwards, clutching her hands to her chest. _“Did I break you guys up?!”_ she screeches so loudly, making Felicity flinch. “I did, didn’t I?”

 

“Thea -”

 

“Felicity, he wasn’t cheating, at all, I swear. It was just a prank. A tasteless prank. I _know_ my brother isn’t the same guy he was before and I only said those things because I wanted you to defend him, to make you realise that he could be good for you and then maybe you’d, I don’t know... ask him out or something.” Thea slumps forward, cradling her head in her hands. “Please don’t tell me you broke up.”

 

“I don’t think we did.” Felicity presses her lips together in a grim smile. At least, she hopes they haven’t. “I haven’t spoken to him since last night, but I’m sure I will before the end of the day.”

 

Thea groans into her hands, mumbling something Felicity quite can’t make out. A moment later she lifts her head. “I have to fix this.”

 

Felicity chuckles nervously. “Thea, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’ve done enough.”

 

Thea nods, pushing her chair backwards and standing up. “No, of course. You’re right. I’m just going to talk to Ollie to explain everything.” She shoulders her handbag, fixing Felicity with a determined smile. “That’s all, promise. No more games.”

 

She struts out of the office without so much as a goodbye, but in a less frazzled state than she was in when she entered. Felicity sucks in a deep breath as she watches Thea leave, not quite sure what her visit had really accomplished.

 

She still doesn’t know where she stands with Oliver, hasn’t dealt with the media frenzy and is still running behind on her to-do list for the day because of the impromptu meeting this morning. Her computer dings with an email alert and she shifts her gaze to her monitor, eager for a distraction.

 

Only, the email isn’t about a programming problem she can get her hands dirty with. It’s an email from Sara, with a wink in the subject line which only means bad news. Clicking open the email, she rolls her eyes at the blown up picture of her and Oliver mid-fight, glaring angrily at each other. Then groans when she reads the caption.  

 

_‘This is so cute. You’re all over the news. Just realised you, me and Laurel have seen the same man naked. That’s hot. Wanna get coffee and compare notes?”_

 

She’s never deleted an email so quickly in her entire life.

* * *

 

 

The flowers start arriving after lunch.

 

The first bunch is an understated bouquet of blue hydrangeas, a small bouquet that mysteriously appears on her desk when she returns from the cafe across the street for her afternoon coffee.

 

She stares at it for a full minute before calling out. “Lydia?”

 

“No card, but I think we both know who it’s from,” her assistant sing-songs as she walks into her office. “I took the liberty to look up what the flowers mean, if you’re interested.”

 

Felicity quirks her eyebrows at her assistant, indicating for her to go on.

 

“Trust and loyalty. _Intimacy._ ” The smirk on Lydia’s face doesn’t go unnoticed. “How sweet.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Felicity feigns nonchalance, but is unable to keep the small smile from her lips. She’s starts to feel warm and fuzzy all over, a welcome difference to being on the edge of completely freaking out all morning, and it’s definitely not because of the really hot coffee she’s drinking.

 

The second bouquet arrives a couple of hours later, when she’s on the phone to Star Labs discussing a potential information exchange with Wells. She forgets what she’s saying, her carefully prepared pitch to the scientist deserting her when Lydia places the much bigger, more colourful arrangement on her desk.

 

“Love, kindness, passion,” she whispers, before winking and walking back out to her own desk.

 

It’s beautiful, a combination of reds, pinks and yellows; a mix of flowers that she doesn’t recognise and some that she does. The happy bubble in her heart expands as she runs her fingers over the soft petals in front of her, inhaling the lovely scent wafting towards her.

 

“Miss Smoak, are you still there?”

 

Right. She’s on the phone. She snaps out of her Oliver-induced stupor, giving the bouquet one last loving look, and switches back into work mode.

 

The third and final bouquet is accompanied by a chilled bottle of sparkling wine, ice bucket and all. The delivery boy gives her a strange look when he notices the other flowers in her office - Lydia’s gone for the day so she has to personally accept the delivery - but Felicity just waves him off.

 

The roses are a gorgeous, deep red, dark and sensual, in full bloom. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her what they mean, and now that she’s alone without wandering eyes watching her through her glass walls, she allows herself to bask in the subtext and underlying meaning of the three pretty bouquets currently decorating her office.

 

She spies a card in between the flowers this time, and pulls it out. The block of text on it is in Oliver’s handwriting and not typed out, a nice touch of personalisation that melts the last of the frostiness around her heart away.

 

_‘I can only imagine how stressful all of this must have been for you. I also know we have to talk about us, and I really hope there is still an us, but I wanted to do something nice for you today. I hope the flowers were better received than the last time I attempted to send you flowers. Put your feet up, enjoy the wine and please go home at a reasonable hour tonight, okay?’_

 

Her phone’s in her hand even before she finishes reading the whole thing, pulling up his contact with a grin. It only rings once before he picks up.

 

“Hey, Romeo,” she drawls, settling into her office chair and tilting her head back.

 

“Felicity. Hey.” The almost breathless rumble of his voice after such a trying day is soothing, and she realises that she misses him something fierce. Not being in contact with him at all today has been weird and unsettling and she savours the sound of his familiar baritone in her ear.

 

“Got some flowers today,” She twirls her pen between her fingers, closing her eyes and picturing him in his home gym, shirtless, a little sweaty. “Didn’t throw them out this time though.”

 

His deep chuckle sparks the ever-present longing in her stomach and she sighs, crossing her legs to keep her desire in check. The lull in the conversation is strange and awkward, so Felicity just goes for it. 

 

“So, about last night.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Oliver jumps in quickly, sounding a little frantic, like he thinks she’s about to end them. “About everything. Thea came by, and I know she talked to you too, and I want you to know that I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions and thinking that -”

 

“Hey, hey, calm down.” She sits up straighter, suddenly not at all interested in doing this on the phone. She’s already forgiven him, forgave him the moment she realised they’d been manipulated into their dumb fight, but she still wants to do this face to face to minimise any further potential misunderstandings. "I think I'd prefer to do this in person, actually." 

 

“Right. That's a good idea, but I’m still sorry,” Oliver repeats, a little less panicked. She hears some sort of rustling in the background, like he’s putting on his clothes, maybe. Hm. Nice imagery. He changes track, and Felicity suspects it's because he wants to stay on the line with her. Sweet. So sweet. “Anyway, how’s your day been?”

 

“Didn’t start off too well,” she admits. Her gaze drifts to the bottle of wine on her desk. “But then some guy sent me a lot of flowers and a bottle of wine and it’s kinda making up for it.”

 

“Some guy, huh?”

 

“Mmhm. Not sure how my boyfriend is gonna feel about that, to be honest.” Her stomach swoops at the term she’s using for the first time and she holds her breath. She tightens the hold she has on her pen, hoping he understands what she’s getting at.

 

There’s silence on the other end of the call, then he clears his throat. “I think he, um, he might take it better if he can come by with dinner and share the wine with you.”

 

The pen falls from her fingers and she starts twisting the end of her ponytail, eyes fluttering shut and grinning.

 

“If you’re not here in fifteen minutes, I’m popping the wine without you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this :)   
> Thanks for reading, commenting and all the kudos so far. I love all of you so, so much! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this is uh, very decidedly M rated. If that's not your thing, skip forward to the line break.

The lick of her skin against his feels like molten lava sluicing down his body. The air between them is thick, crackling with tension, and it’s all Oliver can do not to flip her over and press her down into her soft, downy bed covers.

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, tongue darting out to flick against his nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through him. Her hands hold him down - or she tries to, anyway - on either side of his body, fingernails scratching lightly down the ridges of his torso.

 

The combination of the mild pain of her nails along his side and the warmth of her breath over his chest threatens to overload his senses and he bucks beneath her, desperate for some kind of relief.

 

“What’re you sorry for?” he gasps, screwing his eyes shut when she licks her way down the middle of his abs. The lower half of his abdomen twitches under her, pressing the hard evidence of his arousal right up against the firm stretch of her stomach.

 

“For thinking you were gonna hook up with someone else,” she answers as she meanders her way further down his body. Her hands move with her to curve around his ass, digging into his flesh, causing him to arch up into her.

 

He twists her sheets into his fists, careful not to rip them, but also not caring if he does because it’s her fault after all. Minx.

 

“For not trusting you.” Her quiet whisper preempts the moan of pleasure that she releases just as she closes her lips around the hard tip of his straining cock

 

Oh _God._

 

She tips her head back, grinning, knowing exactly what she’s doing to him.

 

“For letting Thea manipulate me the way she did,” she continues.

 

One hand leaves his ass to cup his balls and Oliver jerks upwards, unable to control himself. He nearly dislodges her, but she holds her own, tightening her feet around his, her wetness sliding against his skin as she curls her tongue around his stiff member.

 

“Don’t - _ugh,_ Fel - fuu -”

 

“Hmmm?” The vibrations from her throat as she hums in question is downright _dirty,_ and he wants to say ‘don’t talk about my sister when you have my dick in your mouth’ but all he manages is a couple of breathy groans and a frustrated sigh and he flops back onto the bed, resigned to being Felicity’s plaything.

 

Not that he’s complaining.

 

“And since I’m so, _so_ sorry,” she teases. She takes more of him in, sucking hard - _holy mother of Jesus_ \- chuckling, deep and throaty and then releases him with a loud, salacious ‘pop’.

 

“I’m gonna make it up to you all night long.”

 

She kisses up the entire side of his thick, pulsing need and yeah _okay_ , he should have guessed that she'd be chatty in bed too, just as she is in all other aspects of her life.

 

Her voice is an aphrodisiac on its own; deeper, and more sensual than her usual tone and she’s providing him with the soundtrack to all his fantasies from here on in and he’s not at all upset about this.

 

“Felicity, _please_ ,” he pleads, even though he’s not sure what he’s pleading for. He lifts his head, stretching his neck so he can watch her. She sticks her tongue out, licks him again, _fuck,_ and shimmies her way up his body.

 

“Kinda hard to believe it’s taken this long for us to get here.” The slow drag of her hips over him makes him keenly aware of exactly how turned on she is, her slickness painting a portrait of want and desire over the top of his thighs.

 

“Better late than never,” he growls, hands leaving the bunched sheets at his side to slide up her strong, silky smooth legs.

 

Sitting astride him like this, bare to his gaze, breasts bouncing in the pale gleam of her nightlight; his entire world feels _right._ Like after the hectic chaos that was his return from the island, everything’s finally fallen into place, everything in his life where it should be and he’s... happy.

 

He’s _happy._

 

He blinks up at her in wonder. “God, you’re exquisite.”

 

“No, you are,” she challenges, jerking against him before she takes him in her fist and squeezes. 

 

Stars. He’s seeing _stars._ Pinpricks of sparks and light and pleasure bursts behind his eyelids - he wasn’t even aware that he’s shut his eyes - and the next thing he knows he has an armful of Felicity, her golden hair soft and silky around his face, her lips glancing down his jawline.

 

“Let me show you how flexible yoga instructors can be,” she whispers, and then she moves her hips to sink down on him and he very nearly blacks out.

* * *

 

 

The final round of the competition takes place on the Saturday after the ‘Olicity Incident’ as the tabloids have started calling it. Felicity and Oliver had refused to address any of the rumours that had been circulating about the status of their relationship so the interest hasn't waned. Which is why Oliver had insisted Thea travel to the arena with the Spartan support team, at the risk of being inundated with paparazzi if she went by herself. 

 

So here she is, at the gym's reception with Sara and Tommy, staring at the grinning faces of her brother and his secret girlfriend that's accompanied by a full page write up in the Starling City Chronicle. 

 

“They’re so annoying.” Thea narrows her eyes at the picture in front of her, jabbing her finger at the beaming faces at the two most infuriating people she’s ever met in her life. “I don’t understand why they don’t want to go public with this yet. This is so stupid, look at them!”

 

Oliver and Felicity are clad in their trademark green Team Spartan hoodies, posing for the photo together. They’re standing a respectable distance apart, and to the untrained eye, playing the parts of platonic colleagues and teammates perfectly. 

 

Thea on the other hand, knows better.

 

Her brother had come home two days ago looking very blissed out, with a shit-eating grin on his face. He’d wandered through the mansion with a spring in his step, in day old clothing and it occurred to her then that what she was witnessing at that moment was Oliver’s walk of shame and he wasn’t even being subtle about it.

 

She shudders at the memory.

 

“I, personally, think they’re doing this whole keeping it a secret thing because it spices things up a little. Y’know what I mean? Keeps things interesting in the bedroom.”

 

Thea scowls at Tommy, lounging in the seat next to hers. “Shut up. I don’t want to think about that. He’s my _brother_.”

 

Sara and Tommy turn to Thea, both blinking at her in disbelief.

 

Sara’s the first to speak. “ _You_ wanted to get them together. Almost broke them up trying to do it, but you were team Olicity from day one. And now you don't want to think of them being together?”

 

The younger Queen huffs. “It doesn't mean I want to think of them 'keeping things interesting'. And can we let the whole almost breaking them up thing go already, please? I didn't know they were together, okay?" 

 

“You would have known they were together if you’d just asked _me_ for help with your evil scheme.” Tommy scoffs. “Caught them going at it, right here, before the big Verdant blow up and they had me swear on my beloved car that I wouldn’t tell.”

 

Thea stares at him. He -

 

“You _knew?!_ ” Thea demands, just as Sara makes a noise in the back of her throat. “Here, at the _gym?_!”

 

“Where in the gym?” A booming voice interrupts them, and Thea sniggers when Diggle rounds the corner and joins their little group. “And define ‘going at it’.”

 

Tommy tilts back in his chair, smirking. “Naked, sweaty, pounding -”

 

“Ew, ew, ew, ew!” Thea jumps up from her seat and glares at her brother’s dumb best friend. Yes, she might be all for Team Olicity (president of the fan club, thank you very much) but she does not need to have these images put in her head. “Stop it!”

 

“They were _having sex_ in my gym?” Diggle asks again, murderous, arms bulging more than usual.

 

Tommy blinks at Diggle nervously. “Uh -”

 

“God, Felicity’s freakier than I thought,” Sara adds unhelpfully. “Even I wouldn’t get down and dirty here. Not a single one of these rooms are hygienic enough for sexing purposes.”

 

Tommy looks like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown from Diggle’s staring and Thea finally takes pity on him. “Whatever Tommy saw them doing, they weren’t having sex here, John. Tommy’s full of shit.”

 

“How’d you know?” Diggle asks gruffly, turning away from Tommy, who visibly deflates now that the attention is off of him.

 

“Cause when they had their argument at Verdant they hadn’t slept together yet. Ollie told me.”

 

“Going slow, that’s a first for Oliver. Wow, Felicity really did a number on him, huh?” Tommy drawls. “Good for her.”

 

Diggle looks like he’s deciding whether or not to believe Thea, and he’s probably thinking about buying a years worth of Lysol just in case, when Roy skids into the reception, breathless. 

 

“Let’s go, let’s go! I have the van, lets go!”

* * *

 

 

Every nerve in his body is tingling.

 

When they signed up for this - or rather, when Roy signed them up for this, it never occurred to Oliver that they’d make it to the finals. Never thought that they’d actually survive being paired together for more than a single round, and now here they are, real contenders to win this thing.

 

And he does want to win. Desperately. Not just because it would help Dig out with the gym’s finances, but also because his relationship with Felicity had blossomed because of this  competition and winning it just seems like something he _has t_ o do. Like it’s a representation of how hard he’ll fight for their relationship the same way he’ll fight for their win today.

 

He rubs his palms down his basketball shorts, unamused at the amount of sweat he’s producing. It’s going to make Felicity think that he’s worried about their chances or something. Which he _isn’t._

 

“You nervous?” Felicity asks, as if she’s reading his mind, hooking her pinky finger around his.

 

“No,” he huffs but he does curl his little finger a little tighter around hers, heart fluttering at the sight of the faint blush that creeps up Felicity’s cheeks.

 

“You are such a liar.” She sticks her tongue out at him and oh boy, does he want to kiss her and suck that tongue right into his mouth and make her take her words back. Because he’s not nervous. Oliver Queen doesn’t get nervous over stupid reality TV show competitions.

 

If whoever’s in charge could hurry up and give them the signal to just start the damn thing, he’d appreciate it very, very much.

 

The teams have all been separated from each other, placed at different starting points in the finals arena. He and Felicity are in a little room, no bigger than a shopping mall’s changing room, waiting for the door unlock to let them out into the arena.

 

“You know, this reminds me of the Hunger Games,” Felicity murmurs, bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly nervous herself. “Hopefully we don’t have to kill anyone to win.”

 

“We’d have a huge advantage if it really is like the Hunger Games. Survived five years marooned on the island, remember? And I’m really good with a bow.”

 

He doesn’t really think about what he’s saying, merely playing along with her and following her train of thought, but when Felicity doesn’t respond, he tears his eyes away from the large ticking clock on the wall to face his partner.

 

“Felicity, you okay? I understood your movie reference and you didn’t acknowledge it.”

 

She’s looking at him with a weird expression on her face, eyes wide, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, head tilted to the side. “Um... it’s nothing. That was the first time you’ve mentioned the island. Voluntarily.”

 

Oh.

 

Huh.

 

He pulls his hand out of hers to scratch the back of his head. “I never... I never meant to hide it or anything. It’s just not something I like bringing up.”

 

“No, I know. But it means a lot that you brought it up with me.” Felicity grins at him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d kiss you right now, but knowing our luck, if I do, the door will open and we’ll be interrupted and -”

 

“Raincheck, then,” Oliver chuckles.

 

He takes a step towards her, just to hold her hand - platonically - but then a loud, jarring alarm nearly deafens him and the door to the arena slides open, making him stumble back.

 

“Go, go, go!!!” Felicity squeals, taking off to the raucous cheer of the crowd outside, leaving him in the room, dumbfounded.

 

_Right._

 

Time to win this thing.

* * *

 

 

Her feet are aching, thighs screaming as she keeps pace with Oliver. Next to them, Barry’s yelling at Cisco to hurry up and that’s enough motivation for her to ignore the fatigue in her legs and keep sprinting.

 

They’ve made it through most of the course without a solid lead on the Central City team, which is less than ideal. The Coast City duo had fallen far behind, and posed little to no threat so at least they didn’t have to worry about them.

 

“Nearly there,” Oliver pants. “Last one.” He points to a tall structure in the distance that she can’t quite make out but she whimpers. Of course it’s another height-related, upper-body challenge. Lovely.

 

The crowd urges them on, a mix of chanting and cheering, and when they get to the obstacle, the announcer’s voice booms around them.

 

“ _Team Spartan makes it to the final obstacle just a hair’s breadth ahead of Team Star Labs, This is turning out to be a really tight race, folks!”_

 

“Do we just have to climb up this wall?” Felicity frowns as she studies the spaced out holes in the wooden wall. She can’t see past the edge on top, but she knows that it’s too easy. “Then what?”

 

_“Once up on top of the wall, teams will have to pick one partner to traverse the balance beam to the other side. Then that team member will have to solve a puzzle to open the trapdoor that will allow the other team member to run across and reunite with them.”_

 

“That stupid announcer is finally being useful for once,” Oliver mutters. “C’mon, up we go. Follow my lead. We’ll deal with the next part when we get to the top.”

 

She follows Oliver, no longer feeling the pain in her arms because they’ve long become numb from the overexertion. She grins as she climbs, amusing herself with the sight of Oliver’s butt right in her face as he charts a path up to the top for them.

 

“Nice ass,” she whispers, so that the mics don’t pick up on her words.

 

“So not the time,” she hears Oliver growl back. Well, okay then. Looks like Grumpy Oliver has made his return. “Shush.”

 

“It’s either think about your cute butt, or think about how high off the ground I am,” she tells him. “And if I think about the second thing, I’m going to freeze up, and you’re not under me right now to catch me if I fall, although now that we’re talking about you being under me, I’m thinking about a whole lot of other -”

 

“Felicity, _seriously,_ ” Oliver hisses. He actually stops, that bastard, to turn around to send her a dangerous glare. “Trying to win here, if you haven’t noticed. Barry’s right behind us.”

 

“Of course it’s got to do with Barry,” she rolls her eyes, hooking her fingers into the next hold and pulling herself up. But he’s right, Barry and Cisco are only a few feet below them and one wrong move could mean losing their very tiny lead. _Fine._

 

She groans when she finally gets to the top, Oliver helping her up over the edge.

 

“Uh, Oliver...”

 

“Yeah, I see the problem.”

 

The balance beam that one of them has to cross is very high up. Like, over their heads, need to make a running leap to get onto it, type of high up.

 

_Why._

 

“I can make it,” Oliver tells her. “I’ll run and jump, then pull myself up onto the beam.”

 

“Okay, but your balance is terrible and there’s a puzzle on the other side,” she counters. “And no offense, but we’re neck to neck with Barry and Cisco and either one of them will definitely be better than you at whatever the puzzle is.”

 

Oliver frowns at her. “I’m a little bit offended.”

 

“Make it up to you later, but can you think about solving current problem please, Mr. Strategy?”

 

“Okay, well, you’re too short to make the jump up to the beam. And you’re afraid of heights.”

 

“I said _solve_ our problem, Oliver, not repeat our problems back to me.”

 

“I’m just thinking out -”

 

Oliver stops short when Barry and Cisco’s heads pop over the edge and pull themselves up. Felicity purses her lips and pulls Oliver closer to the overhead beam.

 

“Okay, think faster, Oliver,” she mutters.

 

She studies his face, takes in the frown lines on his forehead, the tick in his jaw as he works his way through whatever solution he has for them. He’s so handsome like this, with his delicious scruff along his jawline, serious eyes, just the right amount of sweaty. Yum.

 

“You’re not gonna like it,” Oliver says thoughtfully. He grabs her by her shoulders and spins her so she’s has her back to him, facing the beam. “I’m going to throw you up there.”

 

“ _What!?_ ” she half-shrieks. The production cameras circle around them in earnest, blasting her face up on the big screens. Great. Her fear immortalised on live TV for everyone to make fun of, _forever._

 

“You’re the one who has to go solve that puzzle with that genius brain of yours, but you can’t jump up that high. Thing is, I can _throw_ you up there.”

 

“Oliver, that’s ins -”

 

Oliver makes a noise in his throat. “We’re wasting time, Felicity. And you did the same thing in the first round.”

 

“But we’re much further up this time, Oliver! What if you don’t throw me far enough? What if I don’t catch the bar and I _fall?_ ”

 

Next to them, Barry and Cisco are also having some sort of discussion and yeah okay, that lights a bit of a fire under her feet and they really should just _go_ already. Oliver leans his head down so they’re cheek to cheek, his breath warm against her skin.

 

“We can do this,” he murmurs. His hands tighten their grip around her shoulders. His forehead glances over the side of her temple.

 

“I know we can do this,” he repeats. “Do you trust me?”

 

Oh, wow.

 

She knows he doesn’t mean ‘ _do you trust me’_ , like, ‘do you _trust_ me’ in the context of relationship-related things, and right now is certainly not the best time, or place, to be thinking about very these relationship-related things, _but._

 

They’ve sorted out their issues that stemmed from their fight, of course, yet his question still rubs her the wrong way. Her breath gets caught in her throat and she finds herself desperately needing to see his face. She peels his hands off her shoulders, ignoring his huff of protest because she _needs_ to turn around to look at him.

 

She needs to look into his eyes, make sure he understands what she means when she stares into the deep blue of his irises when she tells him, “Yes, I _trust_ you, Oliver.”

 

The boyish grin on his face lifts the weight that had settled around her heart and he chuckles, possibly at how dramatic she’s being, but she doesn’t care. She’s said her truth and everything else around her just... falls away.

 

“Well, c’mon then, stud. Let’s see what you’ve got.” She turns back to the beam and holds her breath.

 

His big hands slide down to her waist, holding her tight and she feels him muster up all his strength before walking them backwards. He squats as she bends her legs.

 

“Three,” he starts a countdown in her ear. “Two, _one.”_

* * *

 

 

He’s so incredibly proud of her.

 

Not only has she managed to climb up the giant wall, something she wouldn’t have been able to do before this competition started, but Felicity’s running across the beam without looking down and freaking out even once.

 

He won’t lie, he’d been nervous because throwing her up into the air and hoping for the best isn’t exactly the best of plans, but she’d turned around and looked at him with those big, beautiful eyes of hers and told him she _trusted_ him and he just...

 

He told her once that he believed in them, and he does. Both as partners for the competition, and as romantic partners, and when she echoed his sentiment with the clear conviction in her voice, he felt like he could do just about anything. Including throwing her up in the air so she can finish the race.

 

Next to him, Cisco is cheering Barry on in a very obnoxious, grating, volume and he’s reminded why he _cannot_ wait until he’s done with this whole thing. In the distance, Felicity arrives at whatever the panel that houses the puzzle she has to solve, and he watches her duck her head down to start doing her thing.

 

A couple of minutes later, Barry arrives at his own panel and nervous tension creeps up the back of his neck. He wants to win this so badly. They’re so close to the end, he can smell it. He can taste the win on the tip of his tongue and the image of them sharing a sweaty hug on the podium pops into his head without warning.

 

“C’mon Felicity, you got this!” he yells, drowning out Cisco’s cries of encouragement for his own teammate.

 

The sun is shining in his eyes and he has to squint to keep watching her. Eventually, he sees he turn around, a fist in the air, and his heart leaps out of his chest. The trapdoor under his feet clicks and he bends down to yank it open.

 

“See ya, Cisco!” he calls out, before leaping down into the gaping hole.

 

The run to the other end is quick and when he gets there, Felicity’s grinning from ear to ear. Her shirts entirely soaked through, darkened by sweat, and he can see the outline of her abs through the material, which only makes his blood race faster through his veins.

 

He’s going to spend so much time on those abs when they get home tonight.

 

“So that was super easy,” Felicity says, which the mics pick up, amplifying her voice, pulling him out of his spiralling into R-rated territory thoughts.

 

“And yet Barry’s not done with his puzzle yet,” he smirks. “Hah!”

 

“You’re a child,” Felicity scolds. “Let’s go win this thing.” She turns and grabs his hand, pulling him past the puzzle panel and back onto the running track in the main arena.

 

There’s a mile marker as they turn the corner and Felicity whines under her breath. It’s a sprint to the end, he realises with a heavy heart.

 

“So much running, _ugh_ ,” she moans, but she soldiers on and starts jogging away from him.  

 

It’s just another mile of a run, he tells himself, the last one until all of this is over. He can do this.

 

He hates it, hates it so much, but everything they’ve worked for over the last God knows how many weeks comes down to this last mile and he’s not giving up now. He sighs and attempts to catch up to Felicity.  

 

“Is this the longest mile you’ve ever had to run or what?” Felicity grumbles, feet pounding against the track under them. “Like, I can see the finish line but it’s not getting any closer, at all. Oliver, I’m so tired.”

 

How she can still talk while they’re both sprinting for their lives, he doesn’t know, but _he_ sure as hell can’t spare the energy to respond. Instead, he nudges her with his elbow and she yelps, losing her footing.

 

“Are you trying to sabotage us?” she hisses, shoving him in retaliation, knocking him slightly off course.

 

“Okay, jeez, chill,” Oliver mutters.

 

“ _You_ chill. I want to win this. Barry and Cisco are _right behind us._ ” Her competitiveness is rearing its head, and as if she’s trying to prove a point, she pulls in front of him - seriously, where the _hell_ is she getting this energy? - and the cheering increases in volume around them.

 

He speeds up too, keeping a close eye on Felicity’s back, concentrating on the sexy ‘Y’ of her tank top so he doesn’t think about the muscles he’s ripping apart in his legs. If she’s allowed to stare at his ass, he’s allowed to stare at her back. Fair’s fair.  

 

All of a sudden, Barry and Cisco flank him, their footsteps thundering in stereo. “You know,” Barry pants, “It only counts as a win if _both_ if you cross the line, not just Felicity.”

 

Cheeky _asshole._

 

Oliver grunts, ignoring Cisco’s snigger, forcing himself to move faster. Crap. _Crap!_ They’re right, if Felicity crosses before him but Cisco and Barry cross together ahead of him as well, the win goes to them and that’s... yeah, that’s _not happening._

 

He frowns, flings the sweat off his head with a sharp flick of his head, hoping some if lands on his two competitors.

 

“Shut up, Barry,” he snarls, then he _pushes._

 

He lengthens his stride, powers through each step, leans forward, urging himself to dig deep and deeper one last time. He chases after Felicity with single-minded determination, and eventually pulls even with her.

 

“Finally,” he hears her mutter under her breath. She casts him a dark look. “Took you long enough. Thought I was gonna have to slow down. Let’s do this, partner.”

 

He grins, blood brimming with excitement. They have this in the bag. They _absolutely_ have this.

 

The finish line looms before them and the the sound of Barry and Cisco’s slapping footsteps fade away behind him. The rush of adrenaline and anticipation mutes the cheering from the crowd and all he hears is his the sound of his own breathing, all he sees is Felicity right next to him, a small grin on her face.

 

She holds out her hand to him.

 

He looks down, tearing his eyes away from the ribbon at the finish line for one second, staring at the open invitation. He doesn’t hesitate to take her hand, curling his fingers around hers, and _then -_

 

They’re breaking through the ribbon and the crowd erupts in a deafening roar. Confetti explodes around them, rainbow flecks of colour dotting the air.

 

Before he can register what’s happening, Felicity turns to face him, jumps into his arms, hooking her legs around his waist. Her hands curve around his neck and she’s gazing at him so lovingly he feels like he’s about to melt right into the ground.

 

He bands his arms around her automatically for support, mildly surprised at her blatant display of affection, but looking up at her teary-eyed face, positively glowing in triumph, he doesn’t care.

 

“We won, Oliver!” she yells amidst the noise around them. “We won, we won, _oh my God_ , we won!”

 

And then just as suddenly as she had leapt into his arms, she bows her head, their sweaty foreheads touching, both her hands travel slowly from his shoulders to cup his cheeks, fingers digging into his scruff.

 

Their faces are so close together, he feels her breath wash over him as she exhales.

 

“Calling on that raincheck now,” she whispers, right before she kisses him.

 

Thoroughly _kisses_ him. Tongue and all. In front of the _entire_ arena.

 

Amidst the crowd’s renewed thundering applause, Oliver swears he hears Thea’s voice from a distance, screaming at them with delight.

* * *

 

END

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one shot. And look where we are. Yikes. Thank you for putting up with this monster of a fic that wouldn't let me out of its clutches, and thank you for leaving all your comments and kudos and replies on Twitter. I am eternally grateful and hope you'll come back for what I have planned next. Love you lots! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	14. BONUS 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post final chapter, deleted scenes.

\--ARCHIVE RECORD 16528--  
\--PROPERTY OF SCTVN--  
\--PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL--  
\--Transcript of Recorded Interview--

\--Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak, Champions, Spartan Gym, Starling City--

[Playback start]

Interviewer: Really quickly, before you head off to the post-race celebrations, I want to congratulate the two of you -

O. Queen: Thank you, I’m glad that we can finally come forward with our relations-

F. Smoak: [Smacks his chest with the back of her hand] Oliver, I think he’s congratulating us because we just won. The _competition._

O. Queen: Oh. Right. Yes. [Oliver’s laughter sounds forced] The competition. Thank you. I’m - we’re also glad about that. It’s been a crazy, crazy weeks.

Interviewer: So how does it feel? It’s not a secret that you two came into this being the audience favourite, with home ground advantage and all, but tell me more about how you thought the competition was going to go when you first entered to competition?

F. Smoak: Well, Oliver and I... uh, we didn’t get off on the right foot. Actually, funny story, we only did this because our colleague at the gym thought it would be funny to enter us together, hoping we’d stop fighting. I didn't think we’d win, since all we were capable of doing was argue with each other about everything.

O. Queen: But worked out well for us. I made the mistake of underestimating when we first started training, but Felicity’s deceptively athletic. And very strong.

F. Smoak: He thought all I did was _stretching._

O. Queen: And she thought all I did was lift weights.

F. Smoak: That _is_ all you do.

O. Queen: What? _No,_ I also -

Interviewer: Okay, lets uh, let’s not go down that path [nervously laughing, possibly remembering the debacle that was the unaired interview, see archive record 11569]. So how did that work then, you weren’t on good terms when this started, and now you’ve won, and you’re... officially in a relationship?   

F. Smoak: We trained a lot. All the time. The over exposure to this guy and his muscles - who can resist, you know what I mean?

Interviewer: [sharing a look with Felicity] I do know what you mean.

O. Queen: Uh. Anyway, yes, we trained a lot. I got to know Felicity, learned more about her during our sessions and she’s - she’s amazing. She smart, kind, and works her ass, can I say ass? Butt, she works her butt off at everything that she does and the only reason, I think, that we won today is because of Felicity.

F. Smoak: Oliver...

O. Queen: No, I’m serious. You wouldn’t put up with my sh... crap. You called me out when I was being a jerk and you made me want to be a better person. Because I wanted you to be proud of me.  

F. Smoak: [Quite possibly has tears in her eyes] I... Oliver I’m _so_ proud of you. Even if we didn’t win today, I would have been proud of you.

[Oliver has the goofiest smile on his face. This scribe is rolling her eyes at the very public display of affection on this recording. So is the interviewer.]

Interviewer: O...kay. I guess it’s safe to say that you two are a in a good place, in terms of your relationship? There was a very public ah - argument some time last week, and many speculated that it might have led to a break up - were you already together back then?

F. Smoak: We were.

O. Queen: It was a misunderstanding. We... can we not talk about that?

F. Smoak: It did lead to a very honest conversation that we needed to have and I think we’re better off because of it. Oh, I think we gotta go now, they’re calling us in. Thanks for the chat!

Interviewer: No, the pleasure was all mine.

[Playback ends]

* * *

Felicity: wyd m hungry bring food

Oliver: I understood three words in that sentence.

Felicity: If the three words were hungry, bring, and food, then I don’t see the problem

Oliver: Salmon and kale salad?

Felicity: yes

Felicity: By yes I mean no don't u dare

Oliver: Already walking to BBB.

Felicity: That’s why I love you

Felicity: Um.

Felicity: Wait.

Oliver: Calling you now.

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These bits never meant to be published, but with the news that dropped today, I think we all can use a little dose of fluff right? A little background for these couple of scenes: Initially this story didn't finish with them kissing when they won the competition. There was going to be more, but in the end I thought where I left it was the best way to close of the story. That means that I have bits and pieces of what could have been part of the 'extended ending' if you want to call it. And now you get to see them. 
> 
> Of course, this means the scenes are rough cuts and unedited. The social media posts were at the time inspired by the social media aus that were floating around twitter and I decided against using the same format as to not distract from the OG social media aus. Anyway. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


End file.
